


Wishbones

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1960s, Also fair warning that there are parts that are hella cringy, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Noir, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bed Sex, Black Harry Potter, Black Hermione Granger, Blow Jobs, Christmas, Cooking, Couch Sex, Crack, Creature Fic, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Gay Club, Gay Draco Malfoy, Getting to Know Each Other, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jazz - Freeform, Journalist Harry, Just Draco getting his nutrients, Landlord Draco, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Masturbation, Moving In Together, Murder, Mystery, New Year's Eve, New York City, POC Harry Potter, POC Hermione Granger, Queer Harry Potter, Rimming, Sharing a Bed, Snarky Draco Malfoy, Snow, Vampire Draco Malfoy, Vampires, Well okay not murder per-say, Which happens to involve killing someone, Winter, Wishbones, but i love it, lots of cooking, odd jobs, so there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:01:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 42,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26329075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In November of 1961, Harry makes the move from LA to New York City in order to escape his aunt, uncle, and cousin. There, he rents a cramped apartment from one Draco Malfoy, the mysterious landlord of the building, and soon learns that nothing is as it seems.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 21
Kudos: 93
Collections: Anonymous, HP Crack!Fic Fest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, thank you so much to the mods at Crack Fest for all of their wonderful dedication and hard work. This is an amazing fest, and I'm so grateful that I've been a part of it.
> 
> Secondly, thank you to my betas, A and J, for looking this over in such a short amount of time. 
> 
> Lastly, thank you to my love, E. I know I've been glued to my computer for the past however long in an attempt to finish this, so thank you for your love, patience, and support. I love you dearly.
> 
> Sit back, relax, and enjoy the show!

Harry stepped out of the cab and into the rain, the bright lights of Manhattan glowing against the midnight sky. He handed the cabbie, who was busy staining his fingers with nicotine, a five dollar bill before waving him off, watching him disappear into the traffic.

Shivering in the frigid November air, Harry turned to face the tall brick building in front of him. It looked slightly dilapidated, ivy snaking up the sides. A drainpipe echoed, and a cat howled in a nearby alleyway. Only a few of the building’s windows were lit, and he assumed that was because of the time of night. Harry was able to make out the silhouette of a man and woman in an apartment on the 3rd floor, their bodies moving together against the amber light from their bedroom. Harry stared, absently adjusting his black fedora. The evocative sounds coming from the couple’s open bedroom window stained the night, and he let out a sigh.

Heading up the cement stairs that led into the building, he dragged his heavy suitcase behind him. He pushed the double doors open, welcoming the warmth of the building. The hem of his wet trench coat dripped water onto the black and white tiled floor. To the right of him stood rows upon rows of mailboxes, and to his left sat a grand staircase covered in deep red carpet. Straight ahead of him sat an elevator, but a sign slapped across the middle of it indicated that it was broken until further notice. Harry looked between the staircase, his suitcase, and back again.

“Shit,” he murmured to himself, letting out a long sigh.

Harry began his trek up the staircase, the bottom of his oxfords leaving wet, muddy stains on the carpet. By the time he got to the 7th floor, his hairline was drenched in sweat. Lugging his suitcase down the hall, he was able to quickly locate apartment number 743. He knocked loudly on the door. While waiting, he cleaned his circular wire glasses, which were splattered with raindrops. He took off his fedora, the top and brim drenched with rainwater, and let his black corkscrew curls fall over his forehead.

A tall, pale man with ashy blond hair opened the door. One of the first things Harry noticed about the man was that he had deep silver eyes. Harry had seen plenty of grey eyes before, but not like these. The man’s irises were the color of an approaching storm.

“Hello. I’m Draco Malfoy, the landlord of the building. How may I help you?” the man asked, leaning against the doorway. He was dressed in well-tailored trousers, a white collared shirt, and suspenders.

“Uh, hi. I’m Harry Potter, the man you spoke on the telephone with earlier. I’m moving in tonight, and I need my key,” Harry said.

A wide smile crept across Draco’s face. “Yes, of course. Please, come in while I get your key and go over the rules of the building.”

Draco held the door open for Harry, and he stepped over the threshold. As he looked around Draco’s apartment, his eyebrows shot up in disbelief. The walls of the living room, which sat directly in front of him, were plastered with emerald colored wallpaper dotted with silver flowers. A large fireplace was built into the furthest wall, and in front of it sat a charcoal velvet tufted sofa, along with a chair in the same fabric that was arranged neatly next to it. Attached to the ceiling was a sparkling chandelier, the white crystals reflecting the light off of the walls. A large bookcase was mounted onto the right wall, and next to it sat a table with a record player. Harry immediately recognized the song that was softly filling the air, Miles Davis’ “Kind of Blue,” and a wave of nostalgia washed over him.

Despite the lavish furniture and the grand decor, Harry felt unsettled, although he quickly discovered why that was. Looking around, he saw an astounding amount of vases that were scattered about the room, all seemingly filled with what appeared to be wishbones.

“Please, take a seat while I fetch your things,” Draco instructed, gesturing to the couch before disappearing into the next room.

Gingerly, Harry sat down on the couch. On the coffee table sat one of the vases filled with wishbones. He leaned forward, staring at the slender, off-white bones, pondering their use. After a few minutes, Draco’s footsteps grew nearer and Harry blinked, startled.

“Alright, Potter. Let’s go over some things, shall we?” Draco asked, stepping back into the room and taking a seat on the couch next to him.

Harry swallowed thickly, and his jaw tensed. “Sounds good.”

“Right. Well, the first thing I’d like to go over is your story,” Draco said shortly.

“My story?” Harry repeated, confused.

Draco leaned back lazily, stretching his back against the couch. “Yes. Your story. I like to know who my tenants are. I only want good, decent people, you see.”

Harry nodded. “Okay. Well, I’m originally from Los Angeles ─”

“Ah, the city of angels,” Draco said, interrupting him.

“Uh, yeah. I have a complicated relationship with the family that raised me, so I decided it was time to branch off and start anew,” Harry explained.

“And you decided that the best way to do that was move to the opposite side of the country? Golly, that must have been one hell of a rough relationship. Why New York, though? What drew you here?” Draco asked.

“It’s where everyone starts over,” Harry said, shrugging.

“And where did you get that scar?” Draco asked, gesturing to the large, jagged lines that began at Harry’s right temple and shot diagonally across his face. The lines were a stark white, standing out against his umber brown skin.

“Oh. Uh, I don’t talk about that,” Harry said softly.

Draco frowned. “Very well. Now, some rules. I do not allow loud, rambunctious parties. We are all adults in this building, not party animals. I expect the monthly rent to be turned in on time ─ late is unacceptable. I also would like to make it very clear that while your living space is entirely your own, I would appreciate it if you kept it neat and orderly. If I so choose to pop in and see how you’re doing, I don’t want to be greeted with the sight of dirty laundry piles and beer bottles scattered across the floor. Oh, and each apartment comes with a rotary phone so it is ensured that I can contact you if needs be. Are we clear?”

Harry nodded. “Absolutely. No problem.”

“Excellent. Here are your keys, Potter. You’re all set,” Draco said, standing up after placing the keys in Harry’s hand. Harry followed, smoothing out the crease in his trousers from sitting.

“Thanks, Malfoy. And thanks for taking me in so suddenly. I appreciate it,” Harry said, walking towards the door.

“No problem. Happy to help. Now, I understand you had a long journey and must be tired. Go get some well-needed rest,” Draco said, once again resuming his position of leaning suavely against the doorway as Harry stepped out into the hall.

Just as Harry was about to walk away, he turned back around. “By the way, what’s with all the wishbones?”

A cold smile crept across Draco’s face. “You don’t talk about your scar, and I don’t talk about my wishbones. Goodnight, Potter.”

With that, Draco closed the door to his apartment. Harry, slightly befuddled, turned around, lumbering down the hallway.

Climbing down the staircase wasn’t nearly as bad as going up. When he reached the 2nd floor, not nearly out of breath as he expected to be, he wasn’t surprised to see that it looked precisely like the 7th floor. The wallpapered corridor was stained with water leaks, and the carpet was pilled.

His apartment, number 269, was located on the left. It seemed to be a corner apartment, making Harry pleased as he turned the rusty key. As he pushed the door open, an incredibly plain decor met his eye ─ nothing like Draco’s apartment. Flicking on the light and closing the door, he took a look around. To his right sat a modest kitchen with a stove, oven, refrigerator, round table with four chairs, and sink. To his left appeared to be a hallway that led to the single bedroom, and in front of him was the living room. The walls were plastered in a dull beige and baby blue striped wallpaper,and the couch was covered in a light grey fabric.

He stripped off his trenchcoat and hung it up to dry on the coat rack that stood by the door before he wandered further into the apartment, his suitcase in hand, and headed towards the bedroom.

There was a small twin bed, a wide window hanging above it, shoved into the corner of the room. Next to the bed was a small nightstand, a rotary phone and lamp sitting on it. In the other corner of the room sat a desk, as well as a wardrobe and chest drawers.

He set his suitcase down on the hard mattress, popping the locks open. He had very few belongings, as well as clothing, but those that he did bring were of utmost importance. The first thing he removed from his suitcase was a small snow globe, which he held in the middle of his dry palm. He shook it, watching the snow flurries fall over New York’s attractions. Before leaving Los Angeles, Harry had stolen the snow globe from his cousin, Dudley. His aunt and uncle had taken Dudley to New York several times growing up, and Harry had always been left at home. It was on the second trip that Dudley brought back the snow globe, and Harry had been infatuated with it ever since. He carefully placed it on the well worn desk that sat on the other side of the room before returning to his suitcase. He took out a grainy photograph of his parents, placing it on the bed. It was the only picture he had of them, and he needed to figure out a good place to hang it up. Then, he dug up a book he had been reading, which had been nestled underneath a pile of half-folded trousers. He set it down next to the photograph. Finally, he pulled out a pair of flannel pajamas. Stripping his day clothes off and leaving them in a damp heap on the ground, he pulled the fresh, warm pajamas on. Not feeling quite up to putting things away, he headed towards the living room, book in hand.

He sank onto the couch, and a spring immediately began to dig into his back. No matter which way he shifted, it was there. He groaned, throwing his head back in exasperation before accepting that he would simply have to remain uncomfortable.

He flipped the book open to chapter twelve, although he didn’t begin reading. Instead, he mulled over his bizarre encounter with Draco. He certainly seemed to be an unusual character, and there was no denying that he gave Harry an uneasy feeling. There was simply something about him that made him appear incredibly eerie. That, and the fact that he had a collection of hundreds of wishbones. Harry frowned, wishing he knew what they were for. Draco was a landlord who seemed to be doing well for himself. Surely he didn’t need that many wishes.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Harry woke with a start. He blinked, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes as pale, late autumn sunlight streamed in through the window. He could feel that the sheets under him were damp with sweat, likely from one of his countless nightmares that he could never manage to remember.

While washing his hands after relieving himself, he heard the rotary phone begin to ring, piercing the quietness of the apartment. Confused as to why Draco, the only one who had his number, would be calling him, he padded from the bathroom to the desk in his bedroom.

“Hello?” Harry answered, rubbing his eyes as he perched on the edge of his bed.

“Hello, Potter,” Draco said. “Since you don’t have a newspaper service yet, I took the liberty of dropping off an extra copy of today’s newspaper in front of your door. Have a good day.”

Before Harry had the chance to respond, Draco hung up. Harry, confused, set the telephone back before wandering towards his front door and opening it. Sure enough, a copy of the newspaper was sitting there. He picked it up before returning back inside, taking a seat at the table in the kitchen.

Underneath the title of the newspaper, the “National Guardian,” sat the date ─ November 18th, 1961. Harry frowned, disgruntled at how quickly the year had gone by. He scanned the rest of the front page, which was covered in news of JFK sending 18,000 military advisors to Vietnam, as well as the US Ranger 2 launch to the moon being a complete and utter failure.

After reading all of the main articles, Harry flipped to the back of the newspaper. He quickly found the column that listed available jobs. He hummed in thought as he made his way down the list. It wasn’t until near the bottom that one particular job jumped out at him.

_The National Guardian is looking for a dedicated, highly motivated journalist to cover the most breaking stories in New York city, from racism, to police raids, to Vietnam. We are looking for someone who has experience in writing, and people skills are a must. You will be working under two of the top journalists in the city, so you should be able to learn quickly. Your yearly salary will be $5,700, making this an unbeatable opportunity. If interested, please call (212)-678-1867._

Not wanting to lose any time, Harry quickly scurried back to his bedroom, newspaper in hand, and dialed the given telephone number. After three rings, a man answered.

“Hello. Ron Weasley, head journalist speaking. How may I help you?” the man asked.

“Hi. My name is Harry Potter, and I’m interested in the journalist position,” Harry said.

“Oh, swell! I must ask, do you have any previous writing and interviewing skills?” Ron asked.

“Well, I was the lead journalist for my junior college newspaper,” Harry said.

“Uh-huh. And what college was that?” Ron asked.

“East Los Angeles College,” Harry answered.

“Excellent. Are you able to come in for an interview later today? Say two o’clock?” Ron asked.

“Oh, perfect,” Harry said, quickly digging through his suitcase to find a pad of paper and number two pencil. “By the way, what’s the address?”

Ron promptly gave him the address, and Harry scribbled it down in his chicken scratch writing.

“Do you have any further questions?” Ron asked.

“No, I think that about covers it,” Harry said.

“Perfect. Well, I’ll see you at two, Mr. Potter.”

“Bye.”

Once Harry hung up the phone, he let out a cheer of success. He couldn’t believe his luck. Only a couple hours into his new life in New York, and he already had a job interview.

Glancing up at the clock, he decided to leave at 1:30, since the building for the “National Guardian” was only a few blocks away. Although his stomach was growling, he decided he would stop off at a supermarket on the way back from the interview. He needed to go food shopping, anyway.

After reading on the couch for a few hours, Harry wandered back to his bedroom and began to dump the rest of the contents of his suitcase onto his bed. He pulled out a crisp, light blue collared shirt, charcoal colored chinos, a thin black tie, and a beige cardigan. After getting dressed, he quickly pulled on his only pair of dress shoes, which were black oxfords.

Once fully dressed, he wandered towards the bathroom. There, he gave himself a good look-down. His black curls hung limply around his face, and he swiftly dampened them with a small amount of water from the faucet. Although pleased that his hair was no longer hanging in his face, he was well aware that his scar was showing. It was always visible, although his fedora did an excellent job at covering up the majority of it.

At the door, Harry pulled on his trench coat and hat before locking the door behind him. The journey down the red staircase proved to go by much faster when not lugging a suitcase, and for that Harry was grateful.

As he made his way out of the front doors of the apartment building and onto the sidewalk, he inhaled the cold, crisp air. It was no longer raining, although clusters of dark clouds were drifting across the pale blue sky. Patches of sunlight filtered through, reflecting off of the wet asphalt of the street. The trees that lined the sidewalk were mostly bare, save a few orange and burgundy leaves that were clinging to the naked branches.

Walking down the street, he watched passersby going about their daily lives. Several people in business suits seemed to be hailing cabs in a hurry, and one man in the group accidentally spilled coffee down his front. Harry couldn’t help but let out a snicker, which earned him a dirty look from the man.

The next block up, he passed a hot dog cart that was busy serving what appeared to be a long line of tourists. Harry couldn’t say much, since he was new to the city, but he knew soon enough that he would be able to make fun of the awe-struck tourists, who were all probably from somewhere like Nebraska or Ohio.

He reached the address of the building with five minutes to spare, and took a deep breath as he entered. He was going to nail this.

The interior of the building was lavish and expensive looking; the floors of the lobby were marble, and the trimmings of the room were painted a shimmering gold. Harry made his way towards the elevator, thankful to get a break from stairs.

As soon as the elevator doors opened onto the 5th floor, his senses were immediately overwhelmed. Everywhere he looked, people in suits were hurrying about, many of their hands stained with black ink. There were yells of disappointment echoing across the room, directed at employees who weren’t typing fast enough or pressing the ink neatly.

“Deadlines, people! We have deadlines!” a short, squat man with a nasally voice yelled. He wove his way in and out of the rows of desks, frowning at everyone he walked by.

Harry stared at the man, his eyes wide. It seemed like chaos. Just as he was about to turn around, a man with bright red hair and a collection of freckles unlike Harry had ever seen approached him.

“Hi. I’m Ron. Are you Harry?” Ron asked.

“Yeah, I am. Pleasure to meet you,” Harry said, sticking out his hand.

“You, too. Come on, follow me,” Ron said.

Ron navigated their way around the busy desks and to the back of the room, which was lined with individual offices. He pushed open the door that had “Ronald Weasley, Head Journalist” printed on it.

As they entered the office, Harry quickly realized that they weren’t alone. Sitting behind the desk was a woman with golden brown skin and large, curly hair. She bit the tip of her pen, staring down at the pile of paperwork in front of her.

Ron cleared his throat. “Hermione, our two o’clock is here.”

Hermione, the woman, looked up, and a smile lit her face. “Oh! Hello, Harry! I’m Hermione Granger, the other head journalist here, and I also happen to be Ron’s wife. Please, take a seat.”

Harry pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the desk while Ron took a seat next to Hermione. The both of them seemed nice enough, and Harry just hoped that they liked him alright.

“Okay, Harry. Tell us a little about the things you covered during your journalist days in college,” Hermione said, whipping out a pen and pad of paper.

“Oh, sure. Well, I mostly covered events happening in LA ─ you know, sports, politics, construction, things like that. I also worked intimately with the school board so that the newspaper had the ability to let students know announcements and important dates coming up,” Harry explained.

“Excellent. And do you have any job experience in this field?” Ron asked.

Harry frowned. “No, actually. I graduated with my AA degree six years ago, and I immediately began working as a waiter.” 

“I see. Why didn’t you go on to get a bachelor's degree?” Hermione asked.

“Well, I was living with my aunt and uncle at the time. They agreed to pay for my AA degree, but nothing more. I had hoped that my job as a waiter would be enough to provide for myself, but that ended up not being the case. The restaurant hit a rough patch last year, and business began to slow down. I was let go three months ago,” Harry said.

“I understand. Well, that’s no problem. We don’t require a bachelor’s degree, and your experience seems to be plenty. What do you think, Hermione?” Ron asked, turning to his wife.

Hermione hummed in agreement. “Yes, absolutely. Harry would you be able to write a sample article and drop it off by noon tomorrow? I want to get a taste of your writing. The article has to be on something current. Otherwise, it’s up to you.”

Harry nodded. “Sure. No problem.”

“Perfect. By the way, are you new to the city? Or did you move here right after college?” Hermione asked.

“I actually just moved here last night. I’m completely new,” Harry said.

“Last night? Golly, you must be exhausted. How are you doing with the time difference?” Ron asked.

Harry let out a chuckle. “It’s a little hard.”

“I’ll say. The three hour difference is enough to muck up anyone’s daily schedule,” Hermione said.

“Well,” Ron began, taking a look at his watch, “I’m so sorry to usher you out of here, Harry, but Hermione and I have to get to a meeting. It was a pleasure meeting you, though, and we look forward to reading your article sample.”

“Thank you so much for taking the time to see me,” Harry said, standing up.

“It’s truly no problem, Harry. See you soon,” Hermione said.

“Bye,” Ron chimed in with a broad smile.

After shaking their hands goodbye, Harry exited the office with the thrum of excitement in his chest. As he headed home, he couldn’t help but feel as though things were looking up.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry set down three paper bags full of groceries; such as, vegetables, meat, rice, beans, potatoes, olive oil, seasonings, and vanilla ice cream, on his kitchen counter. Going to the supermarket had been a success, although walking home with several grocery bags proved to be more difficult than anticipated. As he began to put his groceries away, a sense of belonging washed over him.

Growing up, he had been expected to cook most meals for his aunt, uncle, and cousin. Despite having access to the freshest produce that Los Angeles had to offer, he was never able to consume it himself. His aunt, not wanting to waste precious money on him, had a tendency to buy the cheapest of fruits, vegetables, and meats for him. If she were in a particularly foul mood, all he would be allowed was whatever was left on his cousin’s plate. Now, for the first time in his life, Harry wasn’t stuck with the discount food and leftovers.

After everything, barring his ingredients for dinner, had been put away, Harry set to work. In a Tupperware, he put in a chicken breast, olive oil, and lemon herb seasoning. While that marinated, he proceeded to clean, peel, and cut a potato to steam. Luckily, the apartment came with an assortment of bowls, pans, and dishes.

Once the diced potato had been placed into a pot of boiling water on the stove, he put the chicken breast on a cookie sheet covered in tinfoil and popped it into the preheated oven. While the potato and chicken cooked away, filling the apartment with wonderful smells, he began to prepare asparagus that he would be adding to the cookie sheet when the chicken had five minutes left.

As Harry prepared his dinner with ease, he found himself craving music. Frowning at the realization that he was still in need of a record player, he began to hum to himself. Lyrics to Billie Holiday’s “I’m Yours” softly escaped his lips. Using the tea towel that had been hanging on the oven handle as a dance partner, he slowly circled around the kitchen, only stopping to put the asparagus into the oven. For once, there was no need to pretend that he was somewhere else. Although he wasn’t at a grand ball or a rich New York soiree, he felt like he was. The sheer joy that came from belonging to himself was enough to keep him lasting.

When dinner was done cooking, Harry began to pile the chicken, asparagus, and potato onto a plate. He settled into his seat at the kitchen table with the overwhelming feeling of contentment.

As he ate, he couldn’t help but mull over the interview. Hermione and Ron had seemed like kind enough people, and they would surely be pleasant enough to work with ─ if he got the job, that was.

Just then, it hit him. He didn’t own a typewriter, which he was in dire need of. Without one, he wouldn’t be able to turn in the article. He glanced at the clock, which read 5:30, and concluded that it was still early enough to be deemed socially acceptable to bother his landlord.

After finishing dinner and leaving the dishes to soak in the sink, he hurried out of his apartment and up the staircase. When he reached the seventh landing, he fast-walked to Draco’s door.

Several seconds after knocking, Draco opened the door. As soon as he saw Harry, his face broke out into a smirk.

“Potter, what brings you here? Settling into your apartment okay?” Draco asked, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, the apartment is great. I was, well … I was actually just wondering if you have a typewriter that I could borrow,” Harry said.

“Sure. Come on in,” Draco said, leading him into the apartment. As soon as Harry stepped inside, a chill ran up his spine. Everything was the same ─ the vases of wishbones, the velvet sofa, the crystal chandelier reflecting the light of the fire in the hearth ─ and yet something was different. The air was heavier, and it smelled like iron.

“Why don’t you take a seat at the dining table in the next room? I’ll be right back with the typewriter,” Draco said, wandering away without waiting for a response.

To the right sat a door that led to the dining room, which was just as grand as the rest of the apartment. The table was made out of a thick piece of roughly cut oak, along with ten dining chairs. A black candelabra sat in the middle of the table, white candles ablaze and dripping wax. As Harry looked around, he realized why the room looked so odd in comparison to the living room ─ there were no wishbones.

“Alright, Potter,” Draco said, walking into the room, “Here’s the typewriter.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, watching as Draco set it down in front of him with a thud.

“No problem. Now, what’s your poison?” Draco asked.

Harry raised his eyebrow. “Poison?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “ _Alcohol_ , Potter. What’s your drink of choice?”

“Oh,” Harry said, feeling heat rising to his cheeks. “Um, I think I’m alright. I have to really pay attention to what I’m writing. Thanks, though.”

“Alright, suit yourself. What are you writing, by the way?” Draco asked.

“I interviewed for a job as a journalist today with the 'National Guardian,' and writing a mock article is part of it,” Harry explained, pushing up his glasses before beginning to type.

“I see. Well, I’ll leave you alone to work, then. If you need me, I’ll be in the living room,” Draco said.

“Okay. Thanks.”

Harry watched Draco disappear into the other room before returning to his typing. The words flew out of his fingertips, and the smell of ink filled the air. He was done within an hour.

After putting the papers in order, he headed back into the living room. There, he found Draco lounging on the sofa, book in hand. Harry immediately recognized the cover.

“Hamlet?” he asked, filling the silent air.

Draco looked up, blinking at him. “How observant, Potter. Amazing.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Jackass. What part are you at?”

“Ophelia’s funeral,” Draco answered.

“Ah. Well, I should get going. Thanks for letting me use your typewriter,” Harry said, walking towards the door. Draco stood up.

“Aren’t you forgetting to thank me for something else?” Harry turned around, unsure of what he was referring to.

“Um ─”

“The newspaper, Potter,” Draco said, smirking.

“Oh, right. Thanks for the newspaper,” Harry said sheepishly.

“No problem. I’ll bring another one by tomorrow morning. Just let me know when you get your own service,” Draco said.

“Will do. Goodnight, Malfoy.”

“Goodnight, Potter.”

As Harry walked down the corridor that led to the staircase, he was left with a funny feeling in his stomach.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just letting you all know that while the term “LGBTQ+” is inaccurate for the time period, I decided that I would rather have it be incorrect instead of using outdated terms for people of the community that could potentially trigger someone Xx

The following morning, Harry began to establish what he hoped was going to turn into a regular morning ritual. After fetching the newspaper from the welcome mat, once again left by Draco, he took his strongly brewed cup of coffee and settled into the kitchen table.

He spent forty minutes lounging about, taking in the freedom of having a leisurely morning. If he had been at his aunt and uncle’s house, he would have been busy making sure that the bacon hadn’t burnt and that his cousin had been well fed. Now, as he took a sip of coffee and looked in the direction of the living room, watching pale grey light filter in through the window, he couldn’t help but feel a deep contentment.

By the time the clock struck eleven, he decided it was time to get dressed. Pulling on a crisp white collared shirt, a grey sweater vest, and navy slacks, he was almost ready to go. When he reached the front door, he pulled on his trench coat, hat, and a scarf that had been his father’s, as the newspaper had warned that there were going to be a few very cold days ahead. When Harry was fifteen, he had found the scarf, along with several other of his parents’ belongings, discarded without thought in the attic.

After locking the front door, he made the tedious trek down the staircase and out of the apartment complex. Soft flurries of snow dotted the streets, blowing in the bitter wind. Harry looked around in amazement, having never seen snow before. It was wetter than he had expected, flakes of slush landing on his face, neck, and hands, which were stuffed in the pockets of his coat. He regretted not bringing gloves.

He reached the “National Guardian” building within thirty minutes. By the time he had ridden up the elevator to the 5th floor, it was three minutes to twelve.

Not wanting to linger in the chaos, he promptly navigated his way around the desks occupied by grumpy, stressed employees and knocked on Ron’s office door.

After a moment, Ron pulled the door back. As soon as he saw that it was Harry, he broke out into a toothy grin. Behind him, Hermione gave Harry a wave.

“Harry, great to see you. Come on in,” Ron said.

“Thanks. You too,” Harry said, walking in through the door and taking a seat from across the desk. Ron followed, sitting next to Hermione.

“So,” Hermione began, crossing her legs, “how did you find writing the mock article?”

“Not too difficult,” Harry said, digging his piece on NBA star Bob Pettit setting a new record, hitting nineteen out of nineteen freethrows, out of his coat pocket. Somehow, he had managed not to crumple it.

He handed the article over to Hermione, who beamed at him.

“Excellent. If you don’t mind waiting for a few minutes, Ron and I can read over the article in my office and then let you know whether we’re going to hire you or not. Luckily for you, not many people have applied for the position,” Hermione said.

“Huh. Seems like a steal of a job, to be honest,” Harry said.

Ron nodded. “Probably has to do with the fact that we’re so liberal here.”

Hermione hummed in agreement. “I agree. Well, Harry, if you’ll excuse us. We’ll be back in a few.”

While Hermione and Ron exited the office, Harry looked around the room. For the first time, he noticed a framed photograph of Ron and Hermione standing with a little girl who didn’t seem a day over five. She had Hermione’s hair and skin tone, but she also had Ron’s freckles and lopsided smile. Harry grinned at the picture, the sheer joy of their smiles becoming infectious.

As the minutes ticked by, he couldn’t help but feel an inkling of nervousness. Although he didn’t have much competition, it didn’t mean that he was an automatic hire.

Thirty minutes later, Ron and Hermione returned to the office, both of them donning wide smiles.

“Alright, Harry. To cut to the chase, your article was perfect. We’d like to hire you. How soon can you start working?” Hermione asked.

“Golly, thank you so much! And I can start working as soon as you need me to,” Harry said, grinning.

“How about immediately? I desperately need an article on José Sarria. He’s the first openly gay candidate for any political office in the world. Are you up for contacting his representative and setting up an interview? I want an in-depth article of him and his success now that the scandalous news of him running for a spot on the San Francisco Board of Supervisors has died down a bit,” Ron said.

“That sounds amazing. I’d be more than happy to work on that assignment,” Harry said, excitement coursing through his veins.

“Great. Here’s the number,” Ron said, quickly scribbling a telephone number on a piece of paper before tearing it off and handing it to Harry.

“After our lunch break, Ron and I will tell management that we’ve hired you, and we’ll get you an office. You’ll have it by tomorrow, so you can start working then. Typical hours are from nine to five, but most of us always end up staying late,” Hermione explained.

“No problem. Thank you both so much,” Harry said, standing up.

Ron and Hermione followed. He took turns shaking their hands.

“Alright. See you tomorrow morning,” Ron said.

As Harry opened the door, he turned back. “See you.”

“Bye, Harry,” Hermione chimed in.

Harry quickly walked out of the building and into the cold, a significant pep in his step as he began his stroll. As he huddled into his coat and scarf, he couldn’t help but feel as though he had accomplished something great.

As he made his way towards his apartment, he came across a small cafe. Figuring that he had time to kill, he stepped inside, welcoming the warmth of the heating.

At the back of the line was a rack of paper newspapers. Harry picked one up as he joined the line, glancing over his options. His stomach growled at the thought of food, having forgotten to eat breakfast.

Once at the counter, he ordered an espresso, as well as a chicken pesto sandwich with fries. Then, he took a seat next to the window, a prime place for people watching.

As Harry waited for his food, he watched the snow flurries land on the ground in soft piles, and the background chatter of people in the cafe provided for nice background noise.

His thoughts began to turn to that of the article, mulling it over. While both intrigued and excited at the prospect of interviewing such an influential individual, it also made Harry slightly uneasy. There was a part of him that supposed he wasn’t straight, but he often chose to ignore it. As he had reached puberty, he had found himself growing attracted to both boys and girls; however, he had never acted on his feelings towards men.

While in high school, he had dated a girl named Cho for three years. However, their relationship had only contained passion for the first two months or so. Afterwards, it had somehow fizzled into something of a best friendship, although neither of them had wanted to admit it. During the summer before their senior year, it had been Cho who had pulled the plug on their romantic relationship. However, as they had still enjoyed each other’s company, they agreed to remain friends. In many ways, Cho had been the only thing that had gotten Harry through his hellish home life.

After graduating, he discovered that he had a tendency to lean more towards men than women. Despite this recognition, he refused to acknowledge it.

Because of his own mixed personal feelings regarding his sexuality, the topic of LGBTQ+ issues came with a bit of baggage. However, he desperately wanted to write the article, which seemed far more important than that of sports records or plays on Broadway. To him, journalism was about writing things that truly mattered in the grand scheme of things.

When his food arrived, he was tempted to scarf it down as quickly as possible. Instead, he chose to savor it, as he reminded himself that this was not a one-time thing. He was free to go to restaurants whenever he damn well wanted.

After finishing his lunch, he began his trek back to the apartment. By the time he arrived, he was shivering and pale, not used to the cold. LA was known for lacking seasons, so this was going to involve some getting used to.

Once he took off his coat and hat, he wandered into his bedroom. There, he dug a notepad out of his suitcase, along with a pen, and arranged himself at the desk. He took out the piece of paper with Sarria’s representative’s phone number out of his pocket. Taking a deep breath, he began to dial.

“Hello. José Sarria’s office. This is Mary White speaking. How may I help you?” a woman answered. She sounded around Harry’s age.

“Hi. This is Harry Potter from 'The Guardian.' I was wondering if I’d be able to set up an interview with Mr. Sarria to discuss his success as an openly homosexual man and how important he is to the activism of gay rights,” Harry said.

“Of course. Mr. Sarria is a huge fan of 'The Guardian,' and I’m sure he’d be more than happy to do an interview with you. Is there a day or time you prefer?” Mary asked.

“No, I would just request that it be done sooner rather than later,” Harry said.

“Absolutely. Mr. Sarria has an opening tomorrow morning at nine. Does that work for you?” Mary asked.

Harry groaned internally, realizing that his body would think it was six o’clock. “Yes, that works. Thank you so much.”

“Of course. Have a nice day.”

“You too.”

As Harry hung up the phone, he let out a long sigh. He really needed a typewriter.


	5. Chapter 5

When Harry’s alarm clock went off at eight the following morning, he was rather tempted to throw it out the window.

Groggily, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. Looking out of the window, he saw that it was going to be another frigid, snowy day. The trees that lined the street out front were covered in a soft blanket of whiteness.

After going to the bathroom and making himself a cup of coffee, he quickly got dressed. Donning a neatly fitting grey suit that sat over a white collared shirt and a navy blue bowtie, he was ready to go.

The walk to the office wasn’t too bad, making it there by 8:50. Despite being there ten minutes early, the office was already bustling with nervous movement. He spotted Ron, leaning over the desk of a man who was heavy set and had dark blond hair. Harry made his way over to them.

“Morning, Ron,” he said.

“Harry! Morning! Didn’t see you there. By the way, this,” Ron began, gesturing the man at the desk, “is Neville Longbottom. He’s one of our photographers.”

“Hey,” Neville said, sticking out his pudgy hand. “Great to meet you. Ron tells me you're from LA?”

Harry nodded. “Yep. Moved here a few days ago.”

“Ah, lovely. How are you liking the city so far?” Neville asked.

“It’s fantastic, albeit a bit colder than I expected,” Harry said, letting out a bark of laughter.

“Well, we are going through a bit of a cold spell right now. Anyway, gents, sorry to dismiss you, but I need to begin working on tomorrow’s photo sets,” Neville said.

“No problem. I need to show Harry his new office. See you later, Nev.”

“Bye, boys.”

After saying their goodbyes to Neville, Ron led Harry around the desks and along the corridor where his and Hermione’s offices sat. Stopping at the door next to Hermione’s, Ron grinned at Harry. On the door was a plate marked “HARRY POTTER, JUNIOR JOURNALIST.”

Harry stared at the plate, amazed to see his name on it.

Ron pushed the door open. “Well, welcome to your new office!”

The inside of the office looked practically identical to Ron’s. It was bright, neat, and tidy, with a desk on one side and a filing cabinet on the other. A large window sat on the far wall, looking out over the bustling streets of New York.

“My God, it’s perfect. Thank you so much,” Harry murmured, taking everything in.

“No problem. Oh, shoot! I forgot to grab your typewriter. Be right back.”

At that, Harry’s ears perked up. Several minutes later, Ron returned, typewriter in hand. He plopped it down onto the desk with a heavy sigh.

“So, here’s your typewriter. Everyone gets one. Unfortunately, it can’t be brought home, as we want to minimize any damage that could potentially be done,” Ron said.

Harry’s heart sank. “Okay. No problem.”

He would simply have to continue using Draco’s typewriter until he could save up enough for one of his own.

“Have any questions?” Ron asked, walking towards the door.

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Alright. Hey, how about you have lunch with Hermione and myself at twelve? We go to a small cafe a few blocks away every Wednesday. We’d love to get to know you more.”

“Gee, thanks! I’d love to,” Harry said, grinning.

“Great. Well, if you have any questions, you know where to find me," Ron said. With that, he closed exited Harry’s office, closing the door behind him.

Harry looked around, an overwhelming sense of responsibility settling on his shoulders.

“Right. Better get on with it,” Harry sighed, his voice filling the quiet room.

After taking off his blazer and hanging it up on the coat rack in the corner of the room, he settled into his desk, feeling an odd sense of power as he realized that he was, indeed, sitting at his own desk, in his own office, at his own job.

Pulling out the scrap piece of paper with Sarria’s phone number on it, he took a breath, staring at the rotary phone on his desk. Hesitantly, he began to dial.

Mary, the representative he had spoken to the previous day, answered the phone. Once Harry said who he was, Mary promptly transferred his call over to Sarria’s personal office phone.

“Hello, Mr. Potter. Glad to hear from you,” Sarria said.

“Hi, Mr. Sarria. Thank you so much for speaking with me today,” Harry said, grabbing a regal pad and pen from the left side of his desk.

“Of course.”

“Now, let’s get right to it. When did you decide to run for a spot on the San Francisco Board of Supervisors?”

“Well, let me tell you, Mr. Potter …”

The rest of the interview went smoothly, Harry jotting down everything Sarria said in his chicken scratch handwriting. They spoke for an hour before hanging up.

Harry stared at the several pages of notes, feeling confident that Ron would be quite pleased.

He spent the next two hours typing up the beginning of the article as quickly as he could, first addressing all of the controversy surrounding Sarria. Then, he moved onto why it was so important that he was running, making sure the transition was smooth.

By the time Hermione knocked on his door at noon, he had typed up several pages.

“Hi, Harry. How’s your first day been treating you?” Hermione asked just as Ron appeared behind her.

“It’s been amazing. I’ve gotten about half of my rough draft on the Sarria article done,” Harry said.

“That’s great, pal!” Ron said, grinning.

“Excellent work, Harry!” Hermione said.“Ready to go to lunch?”

“Absolutely.”

The walk to the cafe, which happened to be the one that Harry had stopped off at the previous day for lunch, was pleasant, although freezing. There was a soft dusting of snow covering the earth, the stark whiteness of it glistening against the dreary greyness of the sky. All around, people in suits were walking in groups. The city was so unlike Los Angeles, but in the best way possible. However, it was strange to not see streets lined with palm trees.

After ordering at the cafe, Harry choosing a bowl of tomato soup, the three of them located a table near the back. The cafe was relatively crowded, and loud conversations echoed off of the walls, which were covered in art.

“So,” Harry began, “how long have you two been married?”

“Seven years. We’ve got a daughter, Rose, who's about to turn five,” Hermione said.

Harry smiled. “I saw a picture of her on Ron’s desk. She looks very sweet,” Harry said.

Ron let out a bark of laughter. “She might look sweet, but golly is she feisty. Takes after her mother.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but her lips were turned slightly upward. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ronald.”

“Uh-huh. Suit yourself, ‘Mione,” Ron said, his eyes alight with amusement.

“So, Harry, why did you choose New York? I imagine it’s quite different from California,” Hermione said, tucking into her sandwich.

Harry nodded. “That’s exactly why I chose it. I didn’t have a great life in LA, and I wanted a fresh start.”

“Ah. I see. Well, New York is lucky to have you,” Hermione beamed.

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry said.

“Where are you living, if you don’t mind me asking?” Ron asked.

“In an apartment a few blocks away,” Harry said.

“Neat. Are you liking it there so far?” Ron asked.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I am. It’s pretty quaint, although it’s still nice. My landlord, though … he’s a bit of an oddball.”

Hermione frowned. “In what way?”

“Well, for starters, his apartment is covered in vases filled with wishbones,” Harry said.

Ron arched an eyebrow. “Wishbones? As in wishbones from birds?”

“The very same. It’s a bit unsettling,” Harry said, grimacing.

“I’d say,” Hermione said. “Is there anything else about him that’s unusual?”

“Well, I asked him about the wishbones when I moved in. He was very secretive about it, to be honest. It left me feeling a little on edge,” Harry said.

“Huh. Do you feel safe there?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, I do. I don’t know. Maybe my landlord is just quirky?” Harry asked hopefully.

Ron let out a snort. “Bud, I don’t know if ‘quirky’ cuts it.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah. Suppose you’re right.”

For the rest of lunch, Harry found himself greatly enjoying the company of Ron and Hermione. The conversation was easy, and there was no awkward air between them. In fact, he felt comfortable.

However, as they made their way back to the office, Harry couldn’t stop thinking of Draco and his wishbones.


	6. Chapter 6

That night, Harry made the increasingly familiar trek to Draco’s apartment, and as he approached, he could make out the soft sound of jazz coming through the door. As much as Draco confused Harry, he had to admit that he had an excellent taste in music.

After knocking, Draco opened the door. Harry swallowed thickly, noticing that he looked particularly handsome in a soft blue sweater and black trousers.

As soon as Draco’s eyes landed on Harry, a broad smile spread across his face.

“Potter. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Harry sighed. “I’m sorry to impose on you again, but I need to borrow your typewriter.”

“Sure thing,” Draco said, beckoning him in.

While Draco fetched the typewriter, Harry wandered towards the dining room, taking a seat at the table.

As Draco came in with the typewriter, Harry’s curiosity got the best of him.

“Why don’t you have any wishbones in here?” he asked.

Draco snorted, setting the typewriter down. “I think it’s hardly appropriate to surround a dining room with wishbones. Some people might find it … intimidating.”

Harry let out a dry laugh. “Doesn’t stop you from putting them everywhere else.”

“Whatever, Potter,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “Can I get you anything? A drink?”

Harry shook his head. “No, thanks.”

“So, I take it you got the job?” Draco asked, taking a seat next to him.

“Yeah. It’s fantastic. I think I’m really going to like it,” Harry said.

“Well, congratulations. What are you writing?”

“An article on José Sarria. Do you know him?”

Draco smiled. “Of course I know him. He’s a well known drag queen in San Francisco. Plus, he’s running for the Board of Supervisors. Pretty big deal.”

“Yeah. I interviewed him yesterday, and I’m hoping to have the article finished by tonight, if I’m lucky,” Harry said.

“Great. Well, I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if I can get you anything,” Draco said before leaving swiftly through the door.

After he realized his eyes had lingered on the backside of Draco’s disappearing figure, Harry blinked, forcing himself back to reality.

“Pull yourself together,” he muttered to himself, beginning to type.

Before he knew it, three hours had passed. After writing the last sentence, he glanced up at the clock and was shocked to discover that it was ten o’clock.

Grabbing his article, he wandered out to the living room. Draco was, once again, lounging on the couch, nursing a crystal glass of whiskey and listening to his jazz.

“Finished?” Draco asked, looking up.

Harry nodded. “Yep.”

“Alright. Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“No, actually. I completely forgot,” Harry said sheepishly.

Draco set his drink down before standing up. “Let me treat you to dinner. I know a great place a few blocks away.”

“Oh. Okay. Thanks,” Harry said, surprised at Draco’s offer. “Mind if we stop at my apartment on the way out? I need to grab my coat.”

“Sure.”

After Draco pulled on his coat, a thick scarf, gloves, and hat, they wandered out of his apartment. Winding their way down the red staircase, Harry couldn’t help but think about how odd the entire situation was.

When they made it to Harry’s apartment, he quickly dashed in, grabbed his own winter gear, and then locked back up. Then, they headed down to the lobby and through the front doors.

The night was dark and bleak, silver clouds covering the stars and moon. A harsh, frigid wind was blowing, and soft snow gently fell to the ground, settling over the city in a thick blanket of white. Harry shoved his gloved hands into his coat pockets and let out a breath of cold air, visible against the starkness of the night.

While he was used to Los Angeles being busy after nightfall, it was nothing compared to the nightlife of New York. Taxis, buses, and cars were lined in traffic, impatient honks filling the air. The bright glow of skyscrapers stood out against the deep black sky, the tops of them disappearing into the flurry of low hanging mist.

“So,” Harry began, “How did you end up becoming a landlord?”

Draco let out a sigh. “My parents died when I was twenty-one, and I was left with a fairly hefty inheritance. Rather than blowing through it, I decided to invest in something that I could make money off long term. So, I bought the building and immediately began to rent the apartments out. It’s a good business, you know. There will always be a demand for living spaces in this city.”

“Oh. Well, I’m sorry about your parents,” Harry said.

Draco waved a hand dismissively in the air. “Oh, don’t be. It was a long time ago.”

“Have you always lived in New York?”

“Yes,” Draco nodded. “Born and raised, although I grew up on the Upper East Side.”

“Ah.”

“What about you? Did you grow up in Los Angeles?”

“Yeah. I was born in Long Beach, but I moved to LA when I was five.”

“Oh, to be a Californian,” Draco sighed. “I bet New York is pretty different.”

“It definitely is, but it’s a nice change.”

Draco turned to Harry, giving him a curious look. “Why were you so desperate to get away from your family? What were you running from?”

Harry sighed. “A life that I didn’t want to live.”

Draco nodded, and they left it at that.

They walked another ten minutes before reaching the restaurant, a small hole in the wall called Pesto and Co.

Draco held the door open for Harry. “Here we are. Hope you like Italian.”

The warmth of the restaurant was a great relief, as every part of Harry was numb. He was certainly finding the cold to be tougher than he imagined.

A host seated them by the front window, and they settled in.

“So, what looks good?” Draco asked.

Harry scanned the menu in his hands, frowning. Everything but the salads were well above his price range.

“Salad, I think.”

Draco looked up from his menu, quirking an eyebrow. “Remember that this is my treat.”

Harry sighed. “I can’t let you pay for me.”

“You can and you will.”

“No, absolutely not.”

“Potter,” Draco said, setting down his menu and leaning in close. “One thing you should know is that _no one_ says no to me.”

Harry swallowed thickly, staring at him. He could make out a gentle dusting of freckles on the bridge of Draco’s nose, and there were soft flecks of blue in his grey eyes.

He nodded in response.

“Good. Glad we cleared that up. Now, order anything you want,” Draco said, resuming looking over the menu.

“Thanks,” Harry said, feeling slight embarrassment.

“Don’t mention it,” Draco said, giving him a small smile.

Harry took another look at the menu, his eyes landing on the pesto gnocchi.

“I think I’m going to get a drink. Do you want anything?” Draco asked.

“A glass of white wine sounds good.”

“Alright. Glass of white wine, it is.”

After placing their orders, seafood scampi for Draco and the gnocchi for Harry, they handed over their menus. Harry briefly looked out of the window, watching passersby trek through the cold, snowy night.

“Have you always enjoyed writing?” Draco asked.

Harry turned his head from the window, looking at him. “Yeah, I’ve always loved it. As a child, writing stories was my escape. I could live any life that I wanted to, even for a brief amount of time.”

“Rather poetic of you, Potter,” Draco said, smirking.

Harry rolled his eyes at Draco’s sarcasm. “Whatever. What about you? Do you have any hobbies?”

Draco, his face straight, looked Harry dead in the eye. “My wishbones.”

☙☙☙

By the time Harry got home, it was well past midnight. As he flicked on his kitchen light and fetched himself a glass of water, the fatigue hit him.

After changing into his flannel pajamas, he settled into bed, huddling under the duvet. Outside the window, he could hear the fierce wind howling, whistling through the bare branches of the trees that lined the street. Off in the distance, a siren echoed across the stark night.

Harry sighed, closing his eyes. His mind turned to Draco.

He had pressed Draco on his reason for collecting wishbones, but he hadn’t budged, simply claiming that it was fun. Eventually, Harry had left it, realizing that he wasn’t going to get any more information. He was more curious than frustrated at Draco’s secrecy, wondering what he had to hide.

However, he understood to some degree. Everyone had their secrets.

He thought about his own secret, the raised scar that cracked across his face. He’d had it ever since that fateful Halloween night in the autumn of 1934. The night his parents had died.

He’d been in the car with them, tucked neatly into his car seat in the back. It had been early morning, a thick fog clinging to the ground. As his aunt had explained it, there had been low visibility, and his father had ended up crashing into the median. The car flipped three times. While his mother had bled out, his father had died instantly. Everyone said it was a miracle that Harry had survived, but only by the skin of his teeth.

As a child, he had been fairly open about his scar. However, he had quickly realized that his peers didn’t know how to react to the accident, and they took to avoiding him. No one wanted to be associated with the freak and his unusual scar.

So, he became guarded.

The only person who he had been vulnerable with was Cho. She had listened intently when Harry revealed his past to her in their sophomore year. Afterwards, she had wrapped Harry in a tight hug, tears in her eyes as she comforted him.

He turned over in bed, facing the wall, and promptly decided that he wouldn’t tell Draco about his scar until he revealed why he collected wishbones.

 _Surely one does not simply come across collecting wishbones_ , Harry thought to himself. The entire thing was incredibly odd, leaving him both intrigued and frazzled.

He thought back to dinner and the good time he’d managed to have. It had been nice to relax after working so hard on the article, especially in the company of someone who he admittedly enjoyed. Draco was as funny as he was confusing, and Harry, for some unknown reason, felt drawn to him.

There was something about Draco that left Harry wanting more.


	7. Chapter 7

One morning in mid December, Harry woke with a burst of excitement. Slipping out from under the covers and into the frigid air, he padded down the hall and into the kitchen, humming as he put on the coffee machine.

The sky outside was dark, although the snow had finally come to a brief halt. A wide blanket of charcoal colored clouds lay across the sky, casting deep shadows over the city. Harry, looking out through the living room window, figured that it was going to be a rather chilly day. However, not even the cold could dampen his mood.

After getting dressed and drinking his coffee as quickly as possible, he grabbed his hat and coat and headed down the stairs. On the way out, he stopped at his mailbox. Since his arrival in New York City, he’d gotten nothing but junk mail. However, as he pulled out the contents of his mailbox, he immediately recognized Cho’s neat handwriting scrawled across a cream colored envelope. Stuffing his letter in the satchel that he had taken to carrying to work, he left the apartment building with a bright smile on his face and a pep in his step.

He had been correct in assuming that the day was going to be cold. Thick layers of frost had settled in everywhere and on everything. Harry shivered as he stepped out into the freezing weather, the tip of his nose growing numb.

As he made his way towards the office, he noticed that several of the surrounding streets were being decorated by city workers for Christmas. Large garlands of pine topped off with bright red ribbons were being wrapped around lamp posts, and strands of white Christmas lights were being woven around the naked branches of the trees.

Harry’s surroundings only improved his good mood, having always been a lover of Christmas. Because he had never been given presents as a child, he had learned to take pleasure in the visual and aural aspects of Christmas: trees, ornaments, lights, front yard decorations, and Nat King Cole singing “O Tannenbaum.” To him, atmosphere was the meaning of Christmas, rather than a religious holiday.

By the time he got to the office, his cheeks hurt due to the cold, as well as the sheer amount of grinning he did on his way. Not even the short man, Mr. Turner, who had intimidated him on the day of his interview by yelling at everyone could deter him from having a good morning.

“Morning, Harry!”

He turned around, smiling when he realized that it was Neville.

“Morning. How’s it going, pal?” Harry asked, wandering over to Neville’s desk.

“Pretty well, thanks. You?” Neville asked.

“Swell, thanks. Excited for the holidays. Have any plans?”

“Yeah. My folks aren’t around anymore, so my grandmother and I celebrate Hanukkah together, just the two of us. What about you?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know, to be honest. I’ve only ever had Christmas with my aunt, uncle, and cousin. I’m not really sure what Christmas by myself entails, although I’m sure I’ll come up with something.”

“Hey, why don’t you go to the ice rink at Rockefeller Center? It sure is pretty, and I’m certain you’d have fun,” Neville said.

“Huh. Okay, I’ll check that out. Thanks, Nev.”

“No problem.”

“Well,” Harry said, clasping him on the shoulder, “I should probably get going. Big day ahead of me.”

“Oh, yeah! Hermione told me that she’s going to start you on a big project today,” Neville said.

Harry nodded. “Yep. No clue what it’s about, but I’m sure it’ll be good.”

“Absolutely. Ron was the one who assigned you the Sarria article, right? And that was a huge hit! I can’t believe how well it went over,” Neville said, leaning back in his chair and smiling.

Harry let out an amused laugh. “Well, thanks. I’m glad to know you enjoyed it. I saw that another paper published an article on Sarria the day after mine came out ─ they were writing about why he’s bad for politics, of course.”

Neville nodded. “Not surprised. I’m sure you’ll get hate mail for various articles at some point. Everyone does. Part of the job, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, sighing. “I guess you’re right. Well, at least I’ll be prepared for it.”

“Shit, Harry, I’ve kept you much longer than I meant to,” Neville said, looking at his watch. “You should actually get going this time.”

“Alright. Hey, want to have lunch tomorrow?”

“Sure. That’d be great.”

“Okay. See you later.”

“Bye, pal.”

Harry headed towards his office, opening the heavy walnut door. Silver light fell in through the wide windows, casting heavy shadows across the vanilla walls. He took off his coat, hat, scarf, and gloves, hanging all of them on the coat rack before grabbing a piece of paper and pen from his desk. Then, he headed to Hermione’s office next door.

He knocked, and Hermione promptly opened the door. She looked tired, although her smile was bright, and she was carrying herself as though she was prepared to work until she dropped.

“Morning, Hermione,” Harry said, grinning.

“Morning, Harry. Come on in. I’ll fill you in on everything,” Hermione said, ushering him in and closing the door behind them.

Harry took a seat in his usual chair, and Hermione sat across from him.

“So, Harry,” Hermione began, licking her thumb before beginning to comb through a stack of papers on her desk. “You did a truly excellent job interviewing Sarria. Your article was incredible, and you covered the topic of queer rights and politics so well.”

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry said, his cheeks warming with embarrassment.

“Well, don’t thank me yet. This next article will probably take an emotional toll on you, and I need you to understand that.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “Sure, I understand. What … what _is it,_ though?”

Hermione sighed, running her fingers through her tightly curled hair. “A woman and her child were killed last night in an alleyway, and we need to have one of our guys on it to do some media coverage, especially since we’re already behind on it.

“I know that this is pretty big considering you’re a junior journalist, but frankly Ron and I don’t have the time right now. I’m currently interviewing the patrons of a gay club not too far from here called Hedwig’s Feather, and it’s all anonymous for obvious reasons. Ron, on the other hand, is up to his neck in interviews regarding the sex scandal with Judge Meyer. Are you up for covering police reports, arrests, autopsy results, and anything that goes to court?”

Slowly, Harry nodded. “Uh, sure. What do you want me to do today?”

“I’m going to need you to write up an article on the woman, Mel Campbell, and her daughter, Nancy. Find out what kind of person she was, talk to people she knew. You and I both know that the police are useless when it comes to shit like this ─ average women being murdered. So, Harry, we have to be the people who care. Understand?”

“Yeah. Understood,” Harry said with a sigh.

“Good. Now, I made some calls to get you started. Here’s the address of Mel’s brother, John, whom she lived with. If I were you, I’d start there. Then, before the day’s done, go to the precinct on Lafayette Street. Learn what you can about the circumstances of Mel and Wilma’s deaths. We need to get this printed and out by tomorrow morning,” Hermione said.

“Alright. I better get going then. Thanks, Hermione,” Harry said, wandering towards the door.

“Harry!” Hermione called after him, and he turned around. “Be prepared to work overtime.”

“Will do,” Harry said before stepping out of the door.

Back in his own office, he quickly gathered everything he would need for an interview: a pen, a pad of paper, the nifty recorder that Ron had loaned out to him a few days prior, and his press badge.

Then, as soon he’d put on his coat, hat, gloves, and scarf, he wandered out of the newsroom and took the elevator down to the ground floor.

He braced himself as he walked back into the cold, squinting his eyes against the bitter wind. Heading to the edge of the sidewalk, he stuck out his hand, watching cabs whiz pass.

Soon enough, a taxi driver pulled over, and Harry hopped in.

“Where to?” the woman asked, pushing up her glasses.

“14 Saint Marks Place in Greenwich. You know it?” Harry asked.

“Sure I do, kid.”

As the taxi made its way towards Greenwich Village, Harry soaked in the warmth of the car. His hands, which had previously been numb from standing in the cold, were beginning to thaw out, the tips of them tingling.

He stared out of the fogged-up window, watching the city lights blink against the dark, mid-morning sky. On the corner of Jane Street and 8th Avenue sat a quaint Christmas tree farm, and Harry made a mental note for later. He would be picking out his own Christmas tree, afterall.

The taxi came to a halt in front of a tall, skinny, brown building that looked like it had seen better days. Harry handed the cab driver two dollars before thanking her and departing. He watched the cab disappear down the street, disappearing into a long line of traffic underneath the dark sky.

With a long sigh, Harry turned towards the building in front of him. A knot of dread had formed in the pit of his stomach. While the idea of being trusted with something this huge filled him with pride, he was also incredibly aware that he was under a certain pressure to do Mel Cambell, her daughter Nancy, and the family justice.

With a deep breath, he opened the lobby door.


	8. Chapter 8

Thirteen hours later, Harry emerged from his office back at the building. Only a select few were still working, tirelessly pouring over several articles that were to be printed in tomorrow’s edition.

He spotted Gwen, the newspapers’ editor, perched at her desk, rummaging through a stack of papers. She looked just as tired as Harry felt, if not more so, dark circles gracing her under-eye area.

“Come on, come … Where the _fuck_ are you …” Gwen muttered to herself as she rifled through the papers, neglecting to notice that Harry had wandered over.

After realizing that Gwen still wasn’t aware of his presence, Harry awkwardly cleared his throat. Gwen gave a brief jump, her eyes flicking up in startlement.

“Sorry, Gwen. Didn’t mean to scare you. I’m just here to drop off my article for tomorrow,” Harry said, smiling sheepishly.

“Oh, great. I’ll take a look. Why don’t you just set it down on the corner of my desk?” she suggested.

“Great,” Harry said, doing just so. “Are you getting out of here anytime soon?”

Gwen gave a dry laugh. “I’m flattered Harry, but ─”

“No, no,” Harry interrupted, his cheeks burning. “I just meant that you look tired. That’s all.”

“Oh,” Gwen said. “Well, I probably won’t start packing up until three or four.”

Harry briefly glanced at his watch, frowning. “But it’s only midnight now.”

Gwen shrugged. “That’s the way of the business, Harry. You’ll get used to it. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

With that, Harry wandered towards the elevators. Once he entered the lobby, he realized just how eerily still everything was. The bright fluorescent lights that normally lit the building had been replaced with the soft hum of ornate floor lamps scattered about the place, gold light spilling out from underneath the shades.

Double checking that his scarf was tucked neatly around his exposed neck, he pushed his way through the glass revolving door and into the frigid night. Once on the sidewalk, he turned left, heading back in the direction of his apartment.

Despite it being so late, the city was bustling with a type of liveliness that was foreign to Harry. While LA certainly had a distinct nightlife, it was nothing compared to the bright lights and passersby that filled New York City after dusk.

After a block of walking, Harry realized just how exhausted he was. Interviewing John, Mel’s brother, had been mentally taxing, as had been learning the details of Mel and Nancy’s murders at the coroner’s office. Now, as he trudged by a lit up drugstore, he found himself wanting nothing more than to shed the mourning of the day.

Two blocks away from his apartment, Harry heard a door creak open from across the street. He looked over and saw two young men walk out, a sign reading “H.F. Bar” glowing behind them.

The two men stood for a moment outside the door, chatting as one of them lit a cigarette. As they began to depart, Harry paused, watching. Their faces, crossed with secrecy and love, betrayed them underneath the glow of the street lamp. Just before they headed in opposite directions, their fingers lingered together for a second too long, and Harry knew.

He racked his brain for some knowledge of H.F. Bar, a place that sounded vaguely familiar. It was only after the two men had departed that it suddenly hit him.

Hedwig’s Feather, the gay bar that Hermione was using to interview queer patrons and customers.

Harry stilled, his breath coming in uneven puffs as he stared at the door across the street, wondering what lay behind it. He could feel a hum of excitement settling into the pit of his stomach, imagining the life that was thrumming inside.

At the same time, Harry felt a streak of embarrassment. He had never properly acknowledged the part of him that knew there was more to love than only a woman. Ever since arriving in New York, however, Harry was finding his mind turning to these thoughts more and more often. He had spent years smothering them ─ these _feelings_ ─ and yet here he was, confronted with all of his hopes, fears, and shame hidden behind a single door.

The Dursleys would be horrified to know that he was contemplating going inside a gay club. He could just imagine Aunt Petunia’s high-pitched shriek and Uncle Vernon’s low, gravelly shouts. His cousin, Dudley, would’ve surely taken this opportunity to use him as a punching bag.

Harry shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts as he looked longingly towards Hedwig’s Feather. _This is fucking ridiculous,_ he thought to himself. _Get in, get out. No one will know._

Adrenaline pumping through his veins, he looked both ways before quickly crossing the street. Inside his chest, he could feel what had previously been a dull thumping growing faster and faster as he neared the other side of the street. Luckily, there was hardly anyone around.

Harry took a deep breath as he approached the door. It was now or never.

Before he could lose his nerve, he pulled open the thick wooden door. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness of what appeared to be a front room with a curtain blocking the actual club, he realized that there was a man sitting at a table next to the entrance. He looked to be about Harry’s age, and he was handsome enough: light brown hair, a square jaw, and blue eyes. As Harry stared at him, the man cleared his throat.

“Haven’t seen you before,” the man said flatly.

“Am … am I in the right place?” Harry asked.

The man arched an eyebrow as he leaned back in his fold-up chair. “Depends on what you’re looking for. Do you have the password?”

“Password? What password?” Harry asked, confused. “I don’t know anything about a password.”

“Well, if you don’t know the password, then I’m afraid I can’t let you in. Sorry, bud,” the man said, sounding like he wasn’t sorry at all.

Just as Harry was about to open his mouth to argue, a figure stepped through the curtain. Harry immediately recognized him: pale skin, flushed cheeks, a pointed nose, grey eyes, and ashy blond hair. Draco Malfoy.

Harry let his eyes rake Draco up and down. Clad in a light blue collared shirt with the first three buttons popped open and fitted chinos, he looked decidedly handsome. He had a wide smile plastered on his face, and there was a tipsy, happy aura about him.

Harry tried to wrap his head around the fact that Draco was here, at a gay bar. Harry wouldn’t have pegged him as queer in a million years, and the startlement of seeing him was overwhelming. That, and someone else now knew his secret.

“ … Potter?” Draco asked, his brow furrowing.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked awkwardly.

“Well, I _was_ on my way to get some fresh air.”

“Do you know this guy?” the man at the table asked Draco, interrupting the tense air.

“Yeah. He’s with me,” Draco said.

Harry nodded in thanks.

The man frowned. “Fine. He’ll still have to pay the fine and sign in. A word of the wise ─ don’t use your real name.”

“Fine by me. How much?” Harry asked, digging his wallet out of his satchel.

“Five dollars.”

“Alright,” Harry said, forking over a five dollar bill.

In turn, the man slid a piece of paper attached to a clipboard and a pen towards him. Harry racked his brain for a fake name, until suddenly it hit him.

_Vernon Dudley._

“Alright. Follow me,” Draco said, pushing open the thick curtain.

Harry followed, entering the main part of the bar. The room was large, and wisps of smoke caught on the minimal streams of dim light coming from the ceiling. A bar sat to the left of the room, and Harry spotted a few men trying to chat up the bartender. A thick layer of smoke laid over the crowd of men that were on the dance floor, some clad in leather and others in bright makeup and shiny dresses. However, there was also a large portion who were dressed in everyday clothes, just as Harry and Draco were. Many of the men were coupled off, dancing with a partner or two. And, in the shadows of the club, people were intertwined with one another, kissing deeply as the music thrummed around them. Harry had never seen anything like it.

“So, Potter …” Draco began. “You’re queer?”

Harry swallowed thickly, pointedly avoiding eye contact. “Potentially. What are you doing here?”

“Well, _I’m_ about as queer as a two dollar bill.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Are you gay?”

Draco nodded. “Yeah.”

“Right. Are you … here with anyone?” Harry asked.

“Nah,” Draco said. “I’m just here to have fun. What about you? What brought you here?”

Harry sighed. “I was on my way home from work when I noticed the sign across the street. I don’t know. I guess I was just drawn here.”

Draco nodded. “That’s fair. Want a drink?”

“Sure,” Harry shrugged.

Draco cut a trail across the dancefloor, and Harry could immediately tell that Draco was popular amongst this crowd. Men were eyeing him left to right, and Harry felt a burning swell of anger settling into the pit of his stomach. However, he tried to reason with himself.

 _Just because Draco is hot and your landlord doesn't make him yours, you dimwit,_ Harry chided.

They took a seat at the bar, Harry sandwiched in between Draco and a tall, well groomed man who winked at him as he sat down. Looking around, Harry felt both unsettled and excited. He was beyond out of his depth, and yet there was something thrilling about escaping into a world unknown.

The bartender, a middle-aged man with silver hair and a charming smile wandered over to them.

“What can I get for you fellas?” the bartender asked.

“I’ll take a sidecar,” Draco said.

Harry cleared his throat. “And I’ll, uh, have the same.”

The bartender nodded. “I’ll have those right out.”

Then, Harry and Draco were left alone.

Harry hadn’t meant to look at him, but he did. Draco’s pale skin was practically glowing underneath the low light, looking nearly translucent. Harry was tempted to reach out and touch him, wondering if his fingers would ghost past him.

“How’s your job coming along?” Draco asked, breaking the brief silence.

Harry, startled, blinked. “Good. It’s good. I’m working on a murder case right now.”

Draco frowned. “The woman and child, right? What a tragedy.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty tough. I interviewed her brother this morning, and it was brutal.”

“Well, you chose a good place to let loose.”

“Is that why you come here?” Harry asked tentatively. “To let loose?”

Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You could say that, I suppose.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You _suppose?"_

“It’s … complicated. But yes, coming here relaxes me. It’s good for my health.”

“Right.”

Soon, the bartender returned with their drinks. Harry, who had never been a big drinker, peered into his glass with suspicion.

Suddenly, Draco let out a bark of laughter. “Go on, Potter. It’s not going to poison you.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny,” Harry said.

Before he knew it, he was taking a sip. Surprisingly, it wasn’t as bad as he had expected it to be.

“Good?” Draco asked.

Harry nodded. “Good.”

“Excellent.”

As their conversation carried on, Harry noticed Draco’s eyes scanning the room, jumping to different handsome men. Harry’s heart sank, wondering if he was boring Draco to the point of looking for other entertainment.

“If you want me to leave, you can just say it,” Harry said.

Draco looked towards Harry, knitting his eyebrows together. “No, Potter. That’s … it’s not what you think. I like your company.”

At Draco’s words, Harry could feel heat rising to his cheeks. “Oh.”

“So, how long have you known that you’re _potentially_ queer?” Draco asked as he nursed his drink.

Harry shrugged. “I guess I’ve known since junior high. I remember there was this kid, Cedric Diggory, and he was just …”

“ _Stunning_?” Draco supplied.

“Yeah. Stunning. He was one of those people that everyone was just drawn to. The girls at school were constantly flocking after him. He actually dated my first girlfriend.”

“I understand,” Draco said, staring intently at Harry. “Like a moth to a flame.”

Harry squirmed slightly under his gaze. “Yes. Well, her name is Cho. She and Cedric were together during junior high, and we started dating during our freshman year of high school. It started off pretty good, but the romance eventually fizzled out. Somewhere along the way, it turned strictly to friendship. We broke up the summer before our senior year. We’re still really good friends, though. In fact, I got a letter from her today.”

“If the relationship had turned to friendship, then why did you stay with her?” Draco asked.

“I think we confused friendship with romance for a while, to be honest. I did, at least. By the time I realized what had happened, we’d already been dating for a good while. I really valued Cho, though, and I didn’t want to lose her. So, I stayed.”

“You seem to be very close to her.”

“I am. She was really my only close friend. She got me through a lot.”

Draco sighed. “Well, Harry Potter, you certainly are a secretive man.”

Harry let out a bark of laughter. “How so?”

“I feel like I know you, and yet I also feel like I don’t know the first thing about you,” Draco said.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I could say the same thing about you.”

“Well, here’s to secrets, then,” Draco said, raising his glass.

Harry clinked his glass against Draco’s. “To secrets.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up that there's an explicit masturbation scene after Cho's letter!

By the time Harry and Draco stumbled out of the bar, it was a little past five in the morning. There was a thick layer of frost blanketing the streets of Manhattan, and Harry felt as though he could be bowled over by the strong, frigid wind. Despite his outsides being cold, his insides were warm and fuzzy from the alcohol.

Next to him, Draco’s cheeks and the tip of his nose were going a bright red. And, strangely enough, he looked happy. Although Harry had seen Draco smile or smirk, as well as laugh, he’d never seen him simply look content. As they walked, Draco’s sharp features gave way to a softer version of him. In fact, Harry swore he could see the hint of a smile playing on his lips.

They walked in silence, mostly because the wind made it impossible to converse. The trek back to their apartments was bitter and miserable, and Harry kept reminding himself that he could put a fire on when he got back.

As soon as they reached the front steps of the apartment complex, both men dashed into the lobby as quickly as possible. Harry hissed as warm air met his numb extremities. Meanwhile, Draco was rubbing his hands together ferociously.

“Alright. Up we go,” Draco said.

Harry stared at the long, red staircase, longing desperately for an elevator that worked.

Draco began to climb the stairs, and Harry followed, his satchel bouncing sorely against his leg. They walked in silence, lugging themselves up the stairs until they reached the 2nd floor. Harry had expected Draco to give him a brief wave and continue walking to the 7th floor, but he followed Harry instead.

Once they reached Harry’s apartment, they stopped.

“So,” Harry began, leaning against the hallway.

“So,” Draco said, arching an eyebrow.

“Any plans this weekend?” Harry asked in an awkward attempt to fill the empty air.

Draco snorted as he leaned into Harry, resting his forearm against the wall over his head. Harry swallowed thickly, overtly aware of how close they were. He could smell Draco. Eucalyptus and mint. As Harry looked up at Draco, holding his gaze, he realized that he wanted nothing more than to rip the man’s clothes off.

“I believe my calendar’s clear. Why? Thinking of something?” Draco asked, smirking.

“No, not really. Just … curious, I suppose.”

Draco hummed in thought. “Well, how would you feel about hanging out with me? Say, Friday night at seven?”

“Sorry,” Harry said, frowning. “I’m going to be working late nights for the next little while. I don’t think I’ll get off until around twelve.”

“That’s fine,” Draco said. “I can work with that. How about we meet at my apartment at 12:30, and we’ll go from there?”

“Sounds good.”

“Excellent. See you then, Potter.”

With that, Draco pushed off the wall and walked down the hall without looking back. Harry watched as his figure swiftly disappeared up the staircase. As soon as he knew that Draco was gone, he let out a breath that he’d been unknowingly holding. Quickly, he unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped inside.

He hung up his outerwear in a daze. Then, wandering absently into the kitchen, he made himself a grilled cheese before settling into his dip in the living room couch. Sandwich in hand, he pulled Cho’s letter out from his satchel.

It was odd seeing her handwriting again, neat and crisp, despite it having been less than a month since he’d left.

_Harry,_

_Golly, how I miss you! It hasn’t even been a full month, yet I feel as though you’ve been gone for a lifetime and a half. I still get a jolt of excitement every time the clock strikes one on Wednesday afternoons, forgetting that our movie “dates” are no longer in practice._

_Now, tell me everything! You know me, forever inquisitive. What’s the Big Apple like? Is it cold? Do you have a job? Have you made any new friends? What’s your favorite and least favorite things about New York? Do you prefer New York or LA?_

_Not much has changed here, besides … well, everything, I suppose. With your absence, nothing feels the same. And, yet, life continues to chug on, and I continue to go to my shift at the Brown Derby on Wilshire Boulevard. I served Gary Cooper last week, so that’s something._

_I’ve walked by your house a few times, simply to snoop. I went by on Monday, and smoke was billowing out of the windows. The Dursleys were gathered on the driveway with a fireman. Apparently Petunia had attempted to cook. Needless to say, I enjoyed the scene more than I should have._

_I’m so proud of you. You know that, don’t you? After everything you’ve been through, you managed to begin again. You’re one of the lucky ones, Harry, and I’ll be forever grateful for it. As soon as you and I became friends in junior high, I knew you didn’t belong in LA. You’ve always been destined for something greater than this town._

_Everytime I grow sad about you leaving, I remind myself that you are your own person for the very first time. You don’t have to answer to anyone anymore, and that’s priceless. I hope you’re learning how to cook for one (two, perhaps?) and are taking the time to enjoy life on your own. You deserve it._

_I’ve been thinking a lot about Cedric lately. You know how it goes. Some weeks are worse than others. Still, I feel silly for getting so caught up in his death. It’s been ten years, after all. We’ve always said that we’re platonic soulmates. Well, I think Ced was my romantic soulmate. It’s hard knowing I’m never going to get him back, you know? I visited the cemetery a few days ago. I stopped at Alpha Beta on the way and picked up some flowers. Tulips. By the time I got to the cemetery, the sun was just about to set. I sat on the marble bench next to his grave and talked to him for a good hour. It was cathartic in some ways, but I think seeing his headstone also left a hole in my heart._

_Gosh, I had no intention of making this letter sad. Right. Well, have you met anyone? Gone on dates with any lucky ladies? Come on, spill! I want details! You are my best friend, afterall. I reserve the right to be nosy about your love life._

_Well, I think I’ll leave it there. I miss you, Harry. Terribly. I look at the photograph of us on my nightstand at least twice a day. Dammit, I’m beginning to tear up. See, this is what you do to me!_

_Stay safe, will you? And give me a call soon._

_Love,_

_Cho_

As Harry read over her last sentence, he let out a heavy sigh. While it wasn’t unlike Cho to dwell on Cedric’s death, it always gave Harry cause for concern. He wanted nothing more than for Cho to move on with her life: fulfill her lifelong dream of becoming a painter, move out of her parents’ house, maybe even finding a partner. He made a mental note to call her within the next few days.

With one last glance over her neat handwriting, Harry tucked the letter back into the envelope and left it on the coffee table. Then, after tripping over his satchel, he headed to his bedroom.

As he began to take off his clothes, his mind turned to Draco. What a strange night it had been. There was something so easy about Draco, and yet Harry knew that there were deep secrets surrounding the man. Despite that, he couldn’t help but feel drawn to him.

Settling into bed without bothering to put on pajamas, Harry stared at the ceiling. He replayed their goodbye over and over in his mind. As soon as Draco had leaned over Harry, it felt as though his heart had stopped. Being so close to Draco was dizzying, and yet he found himself craving the brief close proximity that they’d shared.

Harry turned his head, looking at the clock on his nightstand. Six o’clock. Realizing that he had to be at the office in three hours, he let out a groan. However, upon further thought, he came to the conclusion that there was no point in going to sleep.

As he debated whether to get up or not, Harry registered that he was half hard. After briefly contemplating if he should do something about it, he decided that it would be stupid not to. He didn’t have anything better to do, after all.

Closing his eyes, he let his right hand move slowly towards his penis, his fingertips grazing his abdomen along the way. As soon as his hand wrapped around his member, he let out a low hiss. After giving himself a few tugs, he was fully hard, and the tip was leaking precome.

Harry slid the pad of his finger lightly over the slit, and his cock twitched in response. Forcing himself to slow down, he began to tease himself, continuing to graze the tip. He bucked into the touch, imagining that it was Draco who was pleasuring him. In his mind, Draco was laying on top of him, his slender hand gripping Harry’s achingly hard prick.

_“You like that, don’t you?” Draco asked._

“Fuck, yes. Stop teasing me,” Harry said aloud, his heart pounding.

_Draco smirked, leaning over to whisper in Harry’s ear. “Say what you want me to do to you.”_

“God,” Harry panted, biting his lip as he moved his hand to his balls, massaging them. “I want you to suck me.”

_“Oh?” Draco asked, his eyelids heavy with lust. “I think I can manage that.”_

As Harry imagined Draco taking him in his mouth, he wrapped his hand around the base of his cock and began to tug up and down. He gasped at the touch, his hips arching up in a desperate attempt for more. Pretending that the heat coming from the slow movement of his hand was Draco’s hot, wet mouth, he began to move faster.

“Fuck, Draco. You feel so good,” Harry said hoarsely, sighing into the touch.

He continued to speed up, his hand pumping quickly. He could feel himself growing closer, electricity coursing from his penis to the rest of his body, burning at his fingertips and toes. His body shuddered, and without warning, he came. Ecstasy rolled over him in waves. Touching himself until his orgasm was over, his body came to a still.

Panting, he opened his eyes. The room was dark, and there was no Draco. Only himself and his hand.

With a heavy sigh, Harry rolled over, grabbing a few tissues from the box on his nightstand. As he wiped on the come laying in thick ribbons on his abdomen and stomach, he couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. He hadn’t intended on masturbating to Draco. Really, all he’d wanted was to jack himself off. He hadn’t planned on it turning into a fantasy that he knew would never happen.

He cooled off, letting the bitter winter air wash over his sweating body. He felt exhausted, but his mind was wide awake, churning the idea of being with Draco. Clearly, he liked men more than he cared to admit. That, or he simply liked Draco a bit too much. Either way, he was entirely screwed.

He needed to talk to someone. Cho, maybe? He’d never told her about his interest in guys. Hell, he hadn’t fully admitted it to himself before moving to New York. Telling Cho would mean putting his one true support system on the line, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to lose her.

However, he reminded himself that Cho had never spoken a bad word against people in the queer community. Harry knew that the likelihood of her not accepting him was slim, but he still felt a tug of fear in his stomach.

As he thought about telling Cho his deepest secret, he realized that the only person he’d actually come out to was Draco. Fucking Draco.

Harry rolled over onto his side, staring at the clock on his nightstand. In his twenty-eight years, he’d only been with two people. His first had been Cho, and while the sex between them had been decent, it had never felt … right. The thought of having sex with her now caused him to grimace. He imagined it would be quite similar to having sex with one’s sister.

The second person had been a woman he’d worked with at the diner three years ago. Her name was Celia. There hadn’t been anything particularly appealing about her, besides the fact that she was a warm body that Harry could use to numb the loneliness. He and Celia had ended up continuing their casual affair for a year before she broke it off. Harry had been disappointed, of course, but he understood why. She thought it was time to find someone who could be emotionally invested in her, and she suggested the same for Harry.

His mind turned to Draco, and he began to wonder how many people he’d slept with. He was clearly popular amongst other queer men. There was no doubt in Harry’s mind that Draco was experienced in ways that he wasn’t, and that terrified him.

Then again, the thought of Draco letting other people see him ─ touch him, _experience_ him ─ made Harry’s blood boil with jealousy. He wanted nothing more than to know Draco and his secrets.

Harry sighed.

“Fuck.”


	10. Chapter 10

The following days consisted of nothing but interviews, reading reports, and working on daily articles giving updates on the Campbell case. So far, it had been established that Mel and Nancy’s cause of deaths was blunt force trauma to the head. Now, the detectives were focusing on searching for the murder weapon, as well as the murderer. Harry wasn’t exactly confident in the detectives’ abilities to solve the case, especially after experiencing their incompetence first hand when visiting the precinct. The two detectives working the case had been nothing but unhelpful and hostile, and it was clear that they weren’t exactly fond of the fact that Harry was a journalist of color. Therefore, Harry spent as little time there as possible, instead focusing on Mel and Nancy’s family, as well as the murders themselves.

Fortunately, Hermione seemed to be pleased with the progress that Harry was making. Each time he met with her to go over his notes and rough drafts, she had nothing but praise for him. Harry found himself cherishing those moments. There was nothing like murder to make one crave human contact.

As the week passed, Harry realized that he thought of Draco more often than not. There was something addictive about the man, and he couldn’t seem to escape his deep want for intimacy with him. It wasn’t all about lust, though. He had a desire to get to know Draco, and it was something he was determined to do.

By the time Friday evening rolled around, Harry was growing incredibly antsy. His eyes consistently wandered to his wrist watch every five minutes, making it seem as though time was stuck.

As he sat at his desk, attempting to type up his article, he let out a big sigh. It was going to be a long night.

Midnight hit several slow hours later, and Harry shot out of his office and into the frigid streets as quickly as possible. From there, he hurried the few blocks that stretched between the office and his apartment, making sure to avoid the black ice riddling the sidewalks.

When Harry reached the apartment complex, he was winded. Taking a few moments before heading up the stairs, he concentrated on slowing down his breath. He wasn’t particularly keen on the idea of being a sweaty mess in front of Draco.

After making sure that he was no longer panting, he trekked up the stairs and onto the 7th floor. He spied Draco’s door at the end of the hall, and his heart skipped a beat.

When he reached the door, he cleared his throat, straightened his coat, and knocked three times. He heard scuffling behind the door, and Draco appeared a moment later.

Harry’s breath hitched. In the few days it had been since seeing Draco last, Harry had nearly forgotten just how breathtaking he was in person. His ashy blond hair, which fell in soft waves to the tip of his ears, glowed underneath the dim light of the hallway, and there was something behind his stone grey eyes that Harry couldn’t put his finger on.

Draco was clad in his usual clothing: a crisp, collared shirt tucked into sleek trousers, suspenders, and shiny oxfords. Harry felt rather drab in comparison, wearing a simple beige sweater over a white collared shirt.

Draco smirked. “Hey, Potter. Come on in, and let me take your coat.”

As Harry wandered into the apartment, he peeled his coat, scarf, and gloves off, handing them to Draco before heading towards the living room couch.

As Draco hung up Harry’s things, he said, “I’m assuming you haven’t eaten yet.”

Harry let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “No, I haven’t had time to eat dinner at all this week.”

Draco arched an eyebrow as he plopped down next to Harry on the couch. “Right. Well, what sounds good? I can make anything.”

“Dunno. Something easy.”

“How about a turkey sandwich?” Draco asked.

Harry shrugged. “Sure. Thanks.”

Draco waved a hand dismissively in the air before disappearing into the kitchen. Harry, having been left alone, took the opportunity to snoop once again. As he looked around the room, he realized that there was a new vase sitting in one of the bookshelves. However, this vase only contained one wishbone, compared to the countless others around the room.

He cocked his head in thought.

A few minutes later, Draco returned with two plates filled with sandwiches and potato chips. As he set them down on the coffee table, Harry decided to pester him.

“You have a new vase,” he said as Draco sat down next to him.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “How astute, Potter.”

“Why? Don’t you already have plenty of wishbones?” Harry asked.

Draco snorted. “One doesn’t simply stop collecting something if they have a large amount, do they?”

Harry frowned. “No, I suppose not, but ―”

“But, _nothing_. Now, eat your dinner. You must be starving,” Draco said.

Harry rolled his eyes but did as he was told, taking a large bite of his sandwich. His stomach rumbled in appreciation, and he realized he hadn’t known just how hungry he was. He continued to eat, feverishly finishing off everything on his plate in five minutes flat.

When he was done, he looked up to see that Draco was staring at him, his eyebrow quirked up in amusement. As Harry looked at Draco’s plate, which had only been a quarter eaten, he suddenly felt a flush of embarrassment.

“Good?” Draco asked, popping a chip into his mouth.

Harry nodded sheepishly. “Very good. I’m pretty sure I forgot to eat lunch, as well. At this point, each day is blending into one another.”

“How much longer are you going to be covering the Campbell murders?” Draco asked.

“Not sure,” Harry said, shifting in his seat. “As long as I can, I suppose. I’m beginning to worry that the case will go unsolved and everyone will forget about Mel and her daughter, Nancy.”

“Right,” Draco said, standing up and gathering the two plates, “you’re eating here every night until this case is over.”

“Malfoy, I can’t possibly ―”

Draco turned around, an eyebrow raised. “You can, and you will. End of discussion.”

Before Harry could reply, Draco disappeared into the kitchen, only to reappear a few minutes later. He resumed his seat on the couch next to Harry.

“So,” Draco began.

“So,” Harry said in response.

“What would you like to do? We can stay here and chat, or we could go out ―”

“Stay here,” Harry said, interrupting Draco. “I’m exhausted, so chatting sounds so nice.”

“Okay,” Draco said, standing up. “I know what will make this evening better. Be right back.”

With that, he disappeared once again into the kitchen. Harry frowned, wondering what he could possibly be getting. However, he was too tired to give it much thought. Instead, he took off his shoes and neatly tucked them on the ground next to the couch. Then he leaned back into the couch, soaking in the warmth coming from the fireplace. The bitter coldness outside hadn’t eased up one bit in the last week, the sidewalks of New York City covered in thick patches of dirty slush and black ice. Despite the fire burning in the hearth, Harry could still feel the cold seeping through his body.

Several minutes later, Draco returned with a ceramic mug in each hand. As he set them down on the coffee table, Harry saw that it was hot chocolate with whipped cream.

“I figured we could use something warm and sweet while talking, although I will admit that it’s spiked hot chocolate. I’ve put a dash of vanilla vodka in it. You could use it after the week you’ve had. I hope that’s okay,” Draco said.

Harry let out a dry laugh. “Yes, it’s very much needed. Thank you, Malfoy.”

“No problem. Also, do you want a blanket?”

“Yeah, a blanket would be great.”

Draco took the off white blanket neatly draped over his side of the couch and laid half of it on top of Harry before sitting down and putting the other half of the blanket over himself. Harry ran his hands along the neat rows of knit stitches.

“Was this handmade?” he asked.

Draco nodded as he took a sip of his hot chocolate. “Good eye, Potter. My mother knit it a long time ago. What gave it away?”

Harry let out a soft laugh. “My best friend from back home, Cho, knits and crochets. She taught me over the years how to spot the difference between handmade and store bought.”

Draco pursed his lips in thought, “The ex, right?”

Harry nodded, “The ex.”

“Ah. Well, I’m impressed. My mother was an avid knitter, and she made sure I knew what quality work looked like,” Draco said.

As the conversation continued, Harry let himself relax into the couch. With both the hot chocolate and the blanket, he felt like he was finally beginning to warm up a bit. Draco moved slightly closer to him, the sides of their thighs touching. Harry glanced over towards Draco, who smiled at him. Harry gave him a sleepy smile in return, his mind swimming with fatigue.

By the time an hour had passed, Harry was feeling incredibly content. He set his empty mug on the coffee table before leaning back into the couch. He could feel himself slipping into the hazy edges of sleep, and he wasn’t particularly motivated to do anything about it.

Eventually, he closed his eyes, darkness enveloping him.

☙☙☙

When Harry woke, it took him a moment to take in his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was that his head was resting on top of Draco’s chest, which was rising and falling in even breaths. As he sat there, not wanting to move in case Draco was asleep, he occupied himself by trying to listen to Draco’s heartbeat. Strangely, no matter how hard he listened, he couldn’t hear anything.

Harry then turned his attention to the room. Pale dawn light was streaming through the living room window, casting soft shadows across the room.

Slowly, he tilted his chin upwards, hoping to see if Draco was asleep or not. Suddenly, his eyes were met with piercing grey ones.

“Oh, good! You’re awake,” Draco said.

Harry hastily sat up straight, feeling the awkwardness of falling asleep on top of Draco. “Uh, yeah. How long have you been awake?”

“Not long. Thirty minutes, maybe. Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Toast?”

Harry nodded, rubbing his eyes. “Coffee sounds great. Toast too, please.”

“Alright. Be back in a jiff.”

While Draco was busying himself with making breakfast, Harry curled into the corner of the couch, resting his head on the arm. He could feel sleep tugging at the corners of his eyes. His head ached, feeling as though it had been stuffed with cotton from lack of sleep.

By the time Draco came back into the living room, Harry realized he’d drifted off. Sitting up, he stretched before huddling back underneath the blanket. Draco handed him a hot cup of coffee, steam peeling off the top in white wisps. Harry took it gratefully, blowing on it for a moment before taking a sip. His insides were immediately warmed.

“And,” Draco said, gesturing to a plate on the coffee table filled with two slices of buttered cinnamon raisin bread, “Here’s your toast.”

While Draco sat down, Harry set down his coffee in exchange for his plate of toast. It smelled heavenly, the rich scent of cinnamon and sugar filling the air. At the first bite, he rolled his eyes. It was delicious.

“Any plans for today?” Draco asked casually before taking a sip of his coffee.

“I’ll probably go back to sleep, to be honest. I’m exhausted,” Harry said.

“Makes sense. Well, you’re welcome to come here for dinner tonight if cooking is too much for you,” Draco said.

Through a mouthful of toast, Harry smiled at him. “Thanks. I’ll give you a call either way.”

“Sounds good.”

Harry finished his toast and coffee in silence, appreciating the fact that Draco wasn’t forcing conversation. He was far too tired to carry on any sort of chatting.

When finished he set his plate and cup back on the coffee table. Then, he stood up, his joints cracking in the process. Draco stood up with him, and they wandered towards the door. There, Draco handed Harry his coat, scarf, gloves, and hat.

“You’re going to be okay today?” Draco asked, frowning.

“Sure I am. Why?” Harry asked.

“Potter, you’re practically sleep walking.”

“Ah,” Harry said, shrugging. “Well, I’m about to remedy that. Thanks for feeding me, and I’m so sorry I fell asleep last night. I hope I can make it up to you.”

Draco let out a light laugh. “You’re welcome here any time, whether to sleep or to eat.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, grinning.

“Alright, Potter. Don’t forget to call me tonight.”

“I won’t. See you later, Malfoy.”

“Bye.”

Harry gave one final goodbye as he left Draco’s apartment. After reaching the end of the hallway, he peered down the five flights of stairs he would have to walk down.

“Why are there so many fucking _stairs_ here?” Harry muttered to himself as he began the trek back to his apartment.

By the time he reached the 2nd floor, he was having a difficult time keeping his eyes open. He knew he would have no trouble falling asleep.

When he got to his apartment, he threw his outerwear onto the living room couch before making a beeline for his bedroom. There, he hastily stripped off his clothes and collapsed into bed.

Within seconds, he was fast asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

He had ended up eating dinner at Draco’s house that night, although it wasn’t nearly as late as it had been the night before. He’d even managed to sleep well, not waking up until noon the next day.

As he sat at the kitchen table in his pajamas, having a breakfast of cereal and a banana at one p.m., he suddenly remembered that he needed to call Cho. He quickly scarfed down the rest of his breakfast before wandering back to his bedroom. There, he perched on the edge of his bed while he dialed Cho’s telephone number.

After three rings, she picked up. “Hello?” Cho answered.

“Hey, Cho.”

He heard a gasp on the other end of the line.

“Harry!” Cho shouted. “It’s about time you gave me a call!”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry it took me so long. Life has been so hectic lately,” Harry said sheepishly.

“Oh, darling, don’t worry. I’ve just missed you, is all. It’s so good to hear your voice again,” Cho said, and Harry swore he could hear her sniffle.

“I’ve missed you too, Cho. So much. Tell me everything! How’ve you been?” Harry asked.

“I’ve been alright. There’s a huge party of celebrities coming into the Brown Derby tonight, and it’s during my shift. The thought of it is slightly daunting, you know?”

“Gosh, I bet. Do you know who’s going to be there?”

“Well, I know that the reservation is under Gene Kelly’s name.”

“No, shit. That’s huge, Cho! You know how much I _love_ Gene Kelly,” Harry said, putting on a dramatic dreamy voice.

“Yes, yes, we all know how _in_ love you are with Gene.”

“Speaking of love, has anyone caught your eye since I left?” Harry asked hopefully.

Cho sighed, “Not particularly. I mean, there’s this cute guy I always ride the bus with on my way to work. He gets off a stop before me, though.”

“Is there any way you could talk to him?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know. I just ― I just think it’s too soon.”

Harry let out a heavy breath, “Cho, it’s been ten years since Ced died. Don’t you think it’s time to start moving on?”

“Sometimes I think I should move on, but … it’s hard, Harry. I’m in love with someone who’s dead, and that’s something I can’t change,” Cho said, her voice soft.

“You don’t need to change it, Cho. You don’t need to love Cedric any less. There’s room in your heart for two loves. I know there is.”

“Ugh,” Cho said, sniffling, “Damn you, Harry, for always being right.”

Harry laughed, “I don’t think I’d go that far.”

“Let’s talk about something that doesn’t make me cry, shall we? Have you gotten a job yet?” Cho asked.

“Yeah, actually. I’m a junior journalist for 'The Guardian,'” Harry said.

“Oh my god! Harry! You’re a journalist? That’s huge! Congratulations!”

“Thanks, Cho. It’s honestly amazing, although the overtime is brutal.”

“Have you made any friends with your co-workers?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, grinning at the thought of his bosses. “I’ve made a few friends. My bosses' names are Hermione and Ron, and they’re lovely. I’ll grab lunch with them whenever I’m not too busy. They’ve got a young daughter named Rose, and they’re just the sweetest. I work with another guy named Neville, and he’s pretty great. He’s a bit awkward but funny. Actually, I think you’d really like him.”

“Sounds like you’ve made yourself right at home. Now, about your love life. Any lucky ladies over in New York?” Cho asked.

Harry swallowed, not sure if he should tell her about the fact that he was queer and head over heels for his landlord.

“Harry? You there?”

Harry cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, Cho. I’m here. I … I actually need to tell you something.”

“Oh,” Cho said, curiosity settling into her voice. “Of course, Harry. Anything.”

“ … Promise you’ll still love me after ―”

“For God’s sake, Harry, would you just come out with it?”

“I’m queer.”

There was a pause. “Wait, what? Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“I’m queer, Cho.”

“Oh, Harry,” Cho said, “Now I understand why you were so nervous. Darling, I’ve known you were queer for a long while now. Over a decade, even. I saw the way you used to look at Cedric.”

“So, you don’t hate me?” Harry asked nervously.

Cho let out a light laugh, “No, Harry, I don’t hate you. I never could. You’re so brave for telling me this, and I’m so proud of you. I love you so much.”

Harry wiped away a single tear spilling down his cheek, “I love you too, Cho.”

“So, what’s caused this revelation, if you don’t mind me asking?” Cho asked.

“I think I’ve just been thinking a lot more about it since moving to New York. I’ve been trying to hide this part of me for so long, and it’s nerve-wracking to finally admit it to myself. I think it’s also difficult because I’m not strictly gay or straight. I’m a combination of the two, and I don’t think a lot of people can understand that,” Harry said, wiping his leaking nose on the back of his flannel pajama sleeve.

“I understand. I think I’d feel the same way if I were in your position. Is … is there someone you’ve met who’s prompted this self-exploration?”

“Yeah, actually. My landlord. His name is Draco, and he’s … God, I don’t even know how to describe him.”

“Well, start with looks,” Cho suggested.

Harry snorted. “Right. I can do that. Well, he’s tall ― a fair bit taller than me, to be honest. He’s got light, ashy blond hair and these deep grey eyes. He’s slender, and he’s always dressed well.”

Cho hummed in thought. “Well, Harry, it certainly sounds like you know how to pick a guy. Now, what about his personality? What makes you like him as a person?”

“He doesn’t take shit from anyone, you know? He’s strong and snarky and sarcastic, and he’s not afraid to speak his mind. On the other hand, he’s also sweet and sensitive. He’s made me dinner a few times because I’ve been working so late, and I actually fell asleep on his chest a couple nights ago.”

“Oh, Harry, that sounds so lovely. Do you know if he’s queer?”

“Yeah, he’s gay. I just … I guess I want to know him better. He intrigues me. Actually, he’s a pretty mysterious guy. He has vases filled with wishbones all over his apartment.”

“Huh. That’s … interesting? Why wishbones?” Cho asked.

“He won’t fucking tell me. It’s infuriating. I sure as hell hope he’s not out there murdering hundreds of birds.”

“Yes, that would put a bit of a damper on your relationship. Have you tried bringing it up with him again?”

“Kind of. He always brushes it off, though,” Harry said, frowning.

“Why don’t you exchange information with him? Tell him about your scar in return for the backstory behind the wishbones,” Cho said.

“Ugh, I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Alright, I can tell you want to move on from this.”

“Yes please.”

“So,” Cho began, “What are your plans for Christmas?”

“I’m going to stay here, I think. I don’t really have the money to go back to LA right now, nor do I necessarily want to,” Harry said.

“Will you be by yourself, or are you going to try to celebrate with other people?” Cho asked.

“Not sure. I think it depends on whether or not anyone invites me to do something. What are your plans?”

“Well, how would you like an early Christmas present?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Early Christmas present? What the hell does that mean?”

Cho laughed. “Well, guess who’s arriving in New York on December 24th and staying until the 28th.”

“Oh my god, Cho! You didn’t! Did you?” Harry asked, shocked.

“I did! I hope you don’t mind that I’m intruding, Harry. I’m just desperate to spend some time with you again.”

“Cho, you’re not intruding at all. I can’t believe you’re coming here for Christmas. God, we’re going to have so much fun! I can take you around and introduce you to everyone! This is easily the best Christmas present you’ve ever gotten me,” Harry said.

“I’m so excited, Harry. I’m going to be arriving in Newark at eight p.m., and I don’t leave until 6 p.m. on the 28th. We’ll have plenty of time together!”

“God, Cho. You outdid yourself. I’ll take a cab to the airport and wait for you, and then we can head back into the city together. How does that sound?”

“Amazing! Oh, Harry, I can’t wait to see you. The next few days are going to go by so slowly.”

“I know. I feel the same way.”

“Well, I need to get started on laundry so that I actually have something to wear to work later,” Cho said, laughing.

“Alright. Sounds good. Talk soon, okay?”

“Okay. Bye, Harry. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

After hanging up the telephone, Harry collapsed back onto his bed, a wide grin spread across his face. He had a feeling that this was going to be the best Christmas ever.


	12. Chapter 12

As Harry stepped off the elevator and onto the 5th floor of his office building, he noticed that Ron’s office door was open ― a rare sight, as he was occupied with interviews, phone calls, and drafting articles the majority of the time. Seeing as the door was open and he hadn’t seen Ron in a while, Harry decided to take a detour on the way to his office.

After crossing the room filled with photographers piecing together pictures to go with groundbreaking stories and writers typing madly away, he reached Ron’s office. Poking his head in, he saw Ron sitting behind his desk and Hermione sitting opposite, both of them laughing.

Harry knocked lightly on the open door, and Ron and Hermione looked up.

“Morning, Harry! Come on in. Hermione and I were just talking about how great of a job you’ve been doing,” Ron said, leaning back in his chair.

Harry pulled up a seat next to Hermione. “Ah, thanks. I’m glad I’m doing an alright job so far.”

“So, Harry, any plans for the holidays?” Hermione asked.

“Well, my best friend is going to be visiting for a few days, so it’ll be just the two of us on Christmas,” Harry said.

He watched as Hermione and Ron exchanged a brief look, clearly communicating silently.

“Harry,” Hermione said, clearing her throat as she turned to look more directly at him, “Ron and I would love to invite you and your friend over for dinner on Christmas Day.”

“Oh,” Harry said, blanching. “Well, I wouldn’t want to intrude on your family time.”

“No, no,” Ron said, shaking his head, “You wouldn’t be. Listen, pal, we know you don’t have any family here, and no one deserves to spend the holidays without one. If you’ll let us, Hermione and I would like to be your makeshift family.”

Harry blinked, trying to process the offer. “That’s so generous of you. My friend and I would love to come over. What time?”

“How about you come over around one o’clock? We always have Christmas dinner early ― around three, or so,” Hermione said.

“Sounds great,” Harry said.

As he left Ron’s office, he realized that this was going to be his first happy Christmas.

☙☙☙

That evening, Harry somehow managed to make it out of the office by eight o’clock. The night was cold and thick with frost, yet there were quite a few people wandering about the streets, the majority of them looking at Christmas and Hanukkah lights decorating front yards and the balconies of apartments. Harry had to admit that New Yorkers certainly knew how to be festive. As he neared his apartment, he could hear Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" coming from the inside of a house on the corner of the street. He found himself grinning at the music.

While the LA weather did grow a bit cooler during the winter months, it was nothing compared to here. Usually, Harry could get away with wearing a t-shirt, light cardigan, and jeans on any given Christmas. However, this year brought the potential of having a white Christmas for the first time, adding to the magic of newness that the end of this year brought with it.

By the time he reached the apartment complex the tip of his nose was numb, and he felt as though he needed to be thawed out. The walk up the enormous red staircase caused his frozen muscles to ache, despite his apartment only being on the 2nd floor. By the time he reached his door, he wanted nothing more than to climb into bed with a hot water bottle.

However, that plan was quickly thrown away when Harry discovered a note tacked onto his door with tape.

_Potter,_

_Want to go on an adventure?_

_D.M._

Harry frowned at the note, conflicted. On the one hand, the idea of doing anything that involved moving seemed absolutely ludicrous. On the other hand, it was Draco.

He turned around with a large sigh, walking back down the hallway before heading to the 7th floor. When he reached Draco’s apartment, he gave a sharp knock.

Not a moment later, Draco opened the door with a bright smile.

“Huh. You’re off work early. This changes things.”

Harry walked into his apartment without waiting for an invitation. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

“That, Potter, is a secret. Just let me get my coat, and then I’ll be ready,” Draco said.

Harry watched as Draco quickly pulled on his heavy winter coat, wool fedora, plaid scarf, and leather gloves, wishing he had the money to afford such high quality outerwear. Despite the fact that he was earning a paycheck, he was putting the money towards household things instead of replacing Dudley’s oversized hand me down coat. Fortunately, his hat and gloves had been purchased with his own money from the diner before relocating to New York.

“Alright, I’m ready,” Draco said as he grabbed his keys and wallet off of the small, round table by the door.

Then, they headed out.

As they made their way down the stairs and out of the apartment complex, Harry mulled over where they could possibly be going. Realistically, the possibilities were endless.

Once they reached the sidewalk, Draco steered Harry right, leading him in the direction of his office.

“So, how was work? I saw that they caught the guy who killed the Campbells,” Draco said.

“Ah, yeah. They did arrest someone, although I’m not convinced that it’s the right person. It just doesn’t add up,” Harry said, frowning.

“Well, that’s no surprise. I certainly don’t have any confidence in the police,” Draco said, shrugging. “Really is too bad, though, putting the wrong person behind bars.”

“That’s our justice system, for you. Now, do you care to tell me where the hell we’re going?” Harry asked.

Draco let out a light laugh. “Patience isn’t one of your strong suits, is it?”

“Ugh. Whatever.”

Pretty soon, they were in the Flatiron District, passing by Madison Square Gardens. As they headed further into town, the more congested the streets became: tourists with maps pressed to their noses, women and men from the Upper East Side with clusters of shopping bags glued to their sides, and children gaping at all of the twinkling lights in the distance. More than once, Harry had to maneuver his way around tourists who were clueless as to where they were going, simply standing still in the middle of the sidewalks. If there was one thing Harry had learned since moving to New York, it was to always keep moving. New Yorkers never stopped.

“I came out to my friend,” Harry said, breaking the silence.

Draco looked at him, an eyebrow quirked upwards. “Oh? How did it go?”

“Really well. She said all the right things,” Harry said.

“Good for you, Potter.”

“Does anyone know about … you?”

A dark shadow crossed over Draco’s face. “I don’t have anyone to tell.”

“Surely that’s not true,” Harry said. “I mean, you seem like the type of fella who’d have loads of friends.”

Draco gave a dry laugh. “Well, looks can be deceiving, I suppose.”

Harry frowned. “So, you’re telling me that you really don’t have anyone? What are you doing for the holidays, then?”

“Celebrating by myself, as always,” Draco said flatly.

“Well … I’m getting together with two friends from work, and my friend is flying here to celebrate as a surprise. Cho, remember her? She’s the one I came out to, and she arrives on the 24th. Anyway, why don’t you come celebrate with us?” Harry asked.

“Thanks for the offer, Potter, but I’d really prefer to stay in,” Draco said.

“Alone?”

“Yes, _alone_. Now, can we drop this?”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

They quickly passed by the Empire State Building in silence, and Harry wondered if he’d offended Draco by pushing him. Truthfully, he just wanted more time with the man. However, that clearly wasn’t going to be possible over Christmas. Harry felt slightly defeated, but he reminded himself that it was okay to not see Draco for a few days. He would survive.

Eventually, Harry began to recognize where they were. In the distance, he could make out the towering Christmas tree that sat in Rockefeller Center, its dazzling gold, red, and silver strands of lights lighting up the deep purple sky, and the crowded ice rink sitting below it.

Suddenly, he remembered Neville recommending he go ice skating here.

He paused, turning to Draco. “Are we … going ice skating?”

A wide grin slowly spread across Draco’s face. Before Harry knew it, he was being dragged by the wrist towards the ice rink.

“Hope you’re good at skating, Potter!”

Truthfully, Harry had never ice skated before, but he decided that Draco didn’t need to know that.

Draco ended up paying for their tickets, even though Harry put up a fair fight. In the end, Draco suggested that Harry pay for hot chocolate and a snack on the way home, which he happily agreed to.

After putting on their skates, they both waddled to the rink’s entrance. Without hesitation, Draco stepped onto the rink. As Harry tried to keep himself steady while climbing onto the ice, he silently cursed Draco for making such a difficult thing look so easy.

“Alright there, Potter?” Draco asked, smirking.

“Fine,” Harry bit out, clinging to the sides of the rink.

“Great. You’ll have no problem keeping up, then,” Draco said, winking before taking off.

He watched helplessly as Draco glided smoothly across the ice, gracefully making his way around the circle as he wove in and out of groups of friends and families. Still stuck at the entrance, Harry scowled.

When Draco returned, he was grinning, and his eyes were bright with laughter. There was crimson color to his pale cheeks, spreading all the way across the bridge of his pointed nose. He looked happy.

“Right. Let’s begin with the basics, shall we?” Draco asked.

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Okay, let’s start by practicing staying still. Slowly take your hands off the wall, okay?”

Hesitantly, Harry followed Draco’s directions. As soon as his hands left the railing, he began to wobble and quickly returned back to his previous position.

“Again, Potter. You can do it,” Draco said, his arms hovering in the general area around Harry’s waist in case he was to fall.

Once more, Harry removed his hands from the railing. Swallowing the discomfort that came with his balance being off kilter, he held out his arms as a means in which to steady himself. Then, he realized he was doing it.

“Excellent, Potter. How do you feel?” Draco asked.

Harry nodded softly, afraid to make any sudden movements. “Not very steady, but we’re getting somewhere, I suppose.”

Draco hummed in thought. “Right. Well, are you ready to go to the next step?”

“Sure?”

“Okay,” Draco said, skating two strides outward, “I want you to skate to me.”

“ … How exactly do I do that?”

“Just move forward a little bit at a time. Try to glide instead of walking. It’s easier,” Draco instructed.

Harry let out a heavy sigh before he reluctantly moved his right foot forward half an inch.

“You’re going to have to move more than that, you know,” Draco said, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, shut up,” Harry snapped.

Draco snorted.

Gently, Harry pushed himself forward, taking it one small step at a time. However, gliding instead of walking proved to be more difficult than he had anticipated. Just as he was about to reach Draco, his left skate awkwardly hit the ice, sending him, along with Draco, tumbling down.

Harry landed with a thud on top of Draco, who let out a low groan before laughing. Harry folded his hands over Draco’s chest, propping his head up on them.

“You’re a terrible teacher,” Harry said with a laugh.

“You’re a terrible student,” Draco shot back, but there was no malice in his voice.

“Alright, help me up,” Harry said, scooting off of him.

“Only if you actually pay attention.”

“Fine.”

☙☙☙

They ended up staying at the ice rink until it closed at midnight. On their walk home, they made a quick stop at a local late night cafe, grabbing two hot chocolates and a piece of coffee cake each before wandering back to the apartment complex.

By the time they arrived home, Harry was exhausted, and his stomach was full. Draco walked him in a gentle silence to his apartment.

“Thanks for taking me skating,” Harry said softly as he unlocked his door.

“Ah, don’t mention it. Just thought you should see the city at Christmas,” Draco said, waving a hand dismissively in the air.

“Well, it was great. I’ll see you soon, and thanks again.”

“Bye.”

With that, Harry walked into his apartment and shut the door behind him.

As he hung up his coat, he smiled at the soft golden glow coming from the living room. He’d bought his Christmas tree a few days prior, and although it only had two ornaments on it, he couldn’t have been happier.

Once he got to his room, he checked the calendar that he’d hung above his desk. Only a few days until Cho arrived.


	13. Chapter 13

From the moment Harry woke up on Christmas Eve morning, he couldn’t help but look at the clock every five minutes. Harry did all he could to occupy himself, but to no avail. The day passed by at a horribly slow pace, minutes seeming like hours, and hours seeming like days.

He spent the majority of the day pacing back and forth across his apartment, tidying things that didn’t need to be tidied and rearranging objects that had been sitting perfectly in the first place.

By the time the evening rolled around, Harry was practically inconsolable in his impatience. As soon as the clock struck 6:30, he quickly put on his coat, grabbed his wallet and keys, and ran out the door. The night was snowy, and the streets were bustling with festive partygoers. As he waited for a cab to pass by, he watched the people wander to various houses and apartment complexes across the street, each of the different groups greeted with boisterous ‘hellos.’

Eventually, a cab came to a stop when Harry put out his hand, and he climbed in. The cabbie, a young man, turned around.

“Where to?” the man asked, smacking gum.

“Newark International Airport, please,” Harry said.

“Righty-o.”

Then, they took off. Harry clutched the handle on the door as the taxi driver sped through traffic, weaving in between cars. While tempted to ask the driver if he had a death wish, Harry kept his mouth shut, wanting nothing more than to get through the forty-five minute drive as peacefully as possible.

As they began their approach to the airport, the cab driver looked at Harry through the rearview mirror. “Gee, man. You seem antsy as hell. Meeting a girlfriend, or something?”

 _Nope,_ Harry thought to himself, _I’m meeting my best friend, who I’ve just come out to, and I certainly don’t have a girlfriend. In fact, I have a huge hard-on for my really fucking weird landlord._

“Uh, yep. Something like that,” he said.

Harry felt a rush of relief when the cab finally came to a halt in front of the United terminal. He handed the cab driver the money owed before scrambling out of the car as quickly as he could and running into the airport. From there, he wandered towards their meeting spot ― at the bottom of the escalator that led to baggage claim.

The airport was bustling with passersby carrying bulging suitcases that were undoubtedly filled with holiday presents, and the waiting area proved to be no less busy. He nudged his way through the crowd, settling into a spot near the base of the escalator. Then, he waited.

After thirty minutes of standing around, Harry regretted leaving early. He impatiently checked his watch for the third time, the hands showing that it had just turned eight o’clock. If Cho’s plane was on schedule, she would be landing any second. Then, it would probably take the plane ten minutes to taxi, and Cho would have to cross a good amount of the airport in order to get out of the main area and towards the baggage claim.

Thirty more grueling minutes had passed, and Harry was near his wit’s end. He could hear Draco’s words echoing in his ears.

_Patience isn’t one of your strong suits, is it?_

Just as Harry glanced down at his watch once again, he heard his name echo out across the crowd.

“Harry James Potter!”

His head snapped up, and he was met with the sight of Cho waving enthusiastically at him from halfway down the escalator. He let out a sigh of relief.

As soon as Cho made it down the escalator, Harry ran towards her, wrapping her in a tight hug. As he breathed in the familiar scent of Cho’s rose perfume, he felt a rush of overwhelmingness. Cho was here, and this was real.

“God, Cho,” Harry said, pulling back from the hug, “you’re certainly a sight for sore eyes.”

Cho laughed, a wide smile spreading across her thin face. “Oh, _Harry_. I missed you so much. Dammit, you’re going to make me cry.”

“Come on,” Harry said, taking her hand, “you can cry when we get back to the apartment. Let’s go get your luggage, shall we?”

Cho sniffled, wiping away a few tears that had spilled down her cheeks. “Alright, alright.”

As they walked hand-in-hand towards the baggage claim, Harry couldn’t stop looking at Cho. She seemed the same, her dark, pin-straight hair falling neatly above her shoulders and black eyes glittering with the usual excitement. She was even wearing her go-to lipstick color, a soft coral.

Once they found the correct conveyor belt, Harry snorted. “I think this is the most layers I’ve ever seen you wear.”

Cho looked down at her outfit, which consisted of a white turtleneck tucked into a plaid skirt, maroon tights, a beige wool cardigan, a puffy down jacket that reached her knees, a scarf, and a beret that was clutched in one of her hands.

“I suppose you’re right,” she said, grinning. “I’ve heard that winters here are brutal, and I didn’t think my poor LA-bred body could take it without a little protective gear.”

“Well, you’re right about that. It’s been so damn cold lately. Walking to and from work is miserable,” Harry said.

Cho wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, I can't imagine. Well, at least you’ve got a fireplace. I’m definitely going to take advantage of that.”

“And hot chocolate. I bought cocoa powder just for you.”

Beaming, Cho pressed a quick peck to Harry’s cheek. “You’re the best.”

“Oh, I think your bags are here!”

Harry pointed at the conveyor belt, which had begun to move. He watched as Cho eyed the suitcases passing by, watching out for her own.

“Alright. My suitcase is brown, and it has a purple bow tied around the handle,” she said, and Harry nodded.

After a handful of minutes, Harry spotted the suitcase. However, Cho got to it before he could grab it off of the conveyor belt. With a heavy sigh, she set it on the ground. Harry raised an eyebrow, realizing that the sides were bulging slightly.

“Cho, what the hell did you pack?”

Cho shrugged nonchalantly, although she was smirking slightly. “Oh, nothing special. Certainly not presents for a special someone.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I thought we agreed that flying here was your present!”

“I know, but then I decided that I didn’t like that.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I bet you broke the rule too.”

Harry grinned sheepishly. “Of course I did.”

As they located the exit and made their way out into the cold night, Harry couldn’t stop smiling. Cho would occasionally glance over at him and snort at his painfully stupid grin, but he didn’t care. He was happy.

Once Harry had managed to hail a cab, Cho loaded her suitcase and they climbed in. The taxi driver, an older man with a thick mustache, tuned the radio to Christmas music as they buckled their seatbelts. After Harry told him his address, they were off on their way.

As they merged into the outgoing traffic, Harry watched as Cho pressed her face to the frosted window. In the distance was the blurry silhouette of the New York City skyline, the bright lights burning against the deep sky.

The taxi driver also noticed Cho’s curiosity, and he let out a soft laugh. “First time to New York, I take it?”

“Yes,” Cho said sheepishly. “My friend lives here, though. I’m just visiting for Christmas.”

“Ah, I see. Well, you couldn’t have picked a better time to visit. There’s certainly something very special about New York at Christmastime,” the cab driver said before turning to Harry. “So, are you the friend?”

“Yeah. I actually just moved here a little over a month ago, so I’m pretty new to the city myself,” Harry said.

The driver hummed in thought. “Have you been able to make your way to Rockefeller Center yet?”

“Yes! In fact, I was there a few days ago. It’s beautiful,” Harry said.

“Sure is. I started taking my kids there every Christmas when they were little. They’re grown now and have kids of their own, but we still manage to go every year,” the cab driver said.

“That sounds lovely,” Cho said.

“It is. So, Ms., where are you from?”

“LA, born and raised,” Cho said.

“Ah, Los Angeles. I’ve always wanted to go, but I just haven’t had the opportunity. Is LA all it’s cracked up to be?” the driver asked.

Cho let out a bark of laughter. “Well, I’m slightly biased, but I think so. There’s nothing quite like LA, although you have to know the right places to go.”

“Well, maybe I’ll manage to take the missus someday.”

As they continued to approach the city, Harry felt a hum of excitement settling in the pit of his stomach. The idea that Cho was here, sitting beside him as they made their way to New York City, was surreal, and he couldn’t wait to show her around the place that he had come to call home.

Thirty minutes later, they arrived in front of Harry’s apartment. As the taxi driver put the car in park, he asked, “Need any help with your luggage?”

“No, thanks though,” Harry said, handing up the owed money. “Thank you so much, and happy holidays.”

“You too, kiddos. Stay safe,” the man said.

Harry and Cho quickly slid out of the cab and into the bitter winter air, hastily grabbing her suitcase from the trunk before hurrying into the lobby.

“Alright. Ready to head up?” Harry asked, gesturing to the crimson staircase.

Cho arched an eyebrow. “Remind me what floor you’re on?”

Harry snorted. “Only the 2nd. Come on.”

With a groan, Cho began to lug her suitcase up the stairs. Once they reached the 2nd floor, Harry led her down the hallway that led to his apartment.

Stopping in front of the door at the very end of the hall, Harry took out his keys. “Alright. Here we are.”

He unlocked the door, and they stepped inside. As Harry turned on the lights and began to hang up his outerwear, Cho glanced around.

“Wow, Harry. This looks pretty decent,” she said.

“Thanks. It’s a bit shabby, but it’s home. Here, let me take your coat.”

Cho shrugged off her coat and scarf, handing them to Harry. Then, he led her into the bedroom. Cho parked her suitcase next to Harry’s bed before wandering towards the desk. There, she gently picked up the photograph of Harry’s parents.

“I’ve always loved this photo,” Cho said softly.

Harry wandered over to her, a sad smile on his face. “Me too.”

With a sigh, Cho set the photo down and turned to him. “I hope you know how proud they’d be of you, Harry.”

“Thanks. I hope they are.”

Quietly, Cho wrapped Harry in a brief hug, resting her chin on Harry’s shoulder. When she pulled back, there were tears in her eyes.

“I stopped by their grave when I was visiting Cedric the other day. I brought them flowers ― Lilies. Cliche, I know, but I thought they would fit,” she said.

A swell of sadness rose in Harry’s chest. “That’s the only thing with being here. I can’t visit them.”

“I know,” Cho said, cupping his cheek. “That’s why I’ll visit them for you.”

“Did you know that you’re the best person in the entire world?” Harry asked, grabbing her hand.

“I’ve been told,” Cho said, grinning.

“Alright, no more sad talk. Can I get you anything to eat?” Harry asked as he led her out to the living room.

“No thanks. I ate on the plane. However, I could go for a cup of hot chocolate,” she said, plopping down on the couch.

Harry smiled at her. “Coming right up.”

After whipping up two cups of hot chocolate on the stove, he brought the steaming mugs out to the living room. Cho had moved from her seat on the couch to the fireplace, poking at the beginning of burning embers surrounding freshly laid logs.

“Got the fire started. Hope you don’t mind,” Cho said as she sat down, taking one of the mugs.

“Not at all.”

As Harry sat down next to Cho on the couch, he wished he could freeze the moment in time. While it was just the beginning of her trip, Harry couldn’t help but remember that it would eventually have to end, and Cho would have to fly back to the other side of the country.

“So,” Cho said, taking a sip of her hot chocolate, “tell me more about this Draco Malfoy I’ve been hearing so much about.”

Harry rolled his eyes, although his cheeks were burning with embarrassment. “Well, what do you want to know?”

“Anything. Everything.”

“Well, that was helpful,” Harry said, snorting. “I don’t know, Cho. He’s very … different. Strange, I guess, although not in a bad way. I know that both of his parents died when he was twenty-one, and he’s pretty much alone now.”

“Oh, that’s terrible. Have you two been hanging out lately?” Cho asked.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, he’s actually been making me dinner whenever I need to work overtime, and he took me ice skating the other night.”

Cho’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”

“Shut up,” Harry said lightly. “We went as friends.”

“I desperately want to meet him before I leave. Do you think that can happen?” Cho asked.

“Only if you don’t embarrass me,” Harry said.

Cho smirked. “Oh, Harry. You know I can’t promise that.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Excellent.”

They continued to chat for hours, until Harry realized that it was past midnight. Setting his empty mug on the coffee table, he turned to Cho.

“Hey, it’s officially the 25th.”

“Oh, it is! Well, merry Christmas, Harry.”

“Merry Christmas, Cho.”


	14. Chapter 14

As Harry woke the next morning, trying to blink the sleep away from his half-open eyes, pale light fell through the living room window and onto the Christmas tree still lit from the previous night. After turning his alarm clock off, Harry sat up, stretching in an attempt to work out the stiffness of his muscles from sleeping on the hardwood floor, and looked to Cho. She was curled tightly on the couch, a crocheted blanket barely covering her. Harry had tried to convince her to take his duvet, but she’d refused, arguing that she was taking the couch, so the least she could do was give Harry the real blanket.

Quietly, Harry stood up and wandered towards the bathroom. After relieving his bladder, he took a quick look in the mirror. His hair was a lopsided mess, and his golden brown skin desperately needed lotion. He groaned at the thought of needing to take a shower before going over to Ron and Hermione’s house.

Padding back to the living room, he checked that Cho was still asleep before heading to the kitchen. There, he put on the coffee pot and got himself a glass of water. After hydrating himself, he took a long, hard stare at the contents of his refrigerator, which was bursting to the brim with Christmas goodies. He pursed his lips in thought, trying to decide what to make for Christmas breakfast.

Eventually, he landed on orange bread pudding. Pulling out an orange, milk, eggs, and butter from the fridge and setting them down on the counter, he grabbed the fresh loaf of challah he had picked up the previous morning. Then, once he had taken out the glass baking dish from the bottom cupboard next to the fridge, he set to work.

Within fifteen minutes, he had the bread pudding baking in the oven. After making sure he’d set the timer for forty-five minutes, he poured himself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the kitchen table.

As Harry sat there, he realized that it felt odd to not be at the office. Despite having been there for a little over a month, he already felt incredibly attached to his job. It didn’t help that he had been immediately thrown into the deep end, dedicating his time to writing articles, doing interviews, and scoping out current events that were happening around the world. Although he’d had the previous day off, he’d felt as though he had things to do, his body having buzzed with excitement at the thought of seeing Cho. However, now that Cho was with him, there was little left to do. The prospect of a lazy morning nearly felt foreign to him, having gotten used to spending his weekends at the office.

Just as he was about to drain his coffee cup, Cho wandered into the kitchen. Her short bob was sticking up at odd angles in the back, and she looked as though she’d only woken up a few minutes ago.

“It smells good in here. What’re you making?” she asked, pouring herself a cup of coffee before sitting down next to Harry.

“Orange bread pudding,” he said.

A lopsided grin appeared across Cho’s face, “Oh, that sounds lovely. By the way, Merry Christmas morning.”

“Merry Christmas morning, Cho,” Harry said, returning her warm smile.

“So,” she said, taking a sip of coffee, “What time are we going over to your friends’ house?”

“We need to be there by one, so we should leave around twelve-fifteen to give us room for inevitable traffic. That okay?” Harry asked.

Cho nodded, “Absolutely. I mean, it’s only seven now. We’ll have plenty of time for presents, breakfast, and lounging about.”

“Which is precisely why I got up so early,” Harry said.

Just as Cho was about to respond, the timer went off. Harry stood up, armed himself with oven mitts, and opened the oven door. The smell of oranges and sweet bread wafted through the air, and he breathed it in deeply. The bread pudding was a soft golden brown on top, and he deemed it perfectly done. He pulled it out of the oven and placed it on the stove top to cool before turning the oven off.

“Want breakfast now?” Harry asked, looking to Cho.

“Sure. It’ll be nice and hot,” she said, standing up. “Can I help you with anything?”

“I don’t think so. Go ahead and take a seat on the couch. I’ll be there in a minute.”

As Cho wandered into the living room, Harry began to dish out two servings of the bread pudding. Once it had been plated, he grabbed two forks and headed into the other room. There, he found Cho seated on the couch, snuggled in the blanket.

“Alrighty,” he said, handing one of the plates to her, “Breakfast is served.”

“God, Harry, it looks fabulous,” Cho said, eyeing her bread pudding.

Harry let out a light laugh. “I hope it tastes good. I’ve never made it before. I actually found the recipe in a magazine the other day.”

“Well, all the best recipes do come from magazines. I hope you cut out the recipe and saved it,” Cho said before taking her first bite.

Harry watched as her eyes rolled back with pleasure, and he took his first bite. He was immediately hit with the tanginess of the orange, followed by the creaminess of the milk and challah. It melted in his mouth, and he now knew why Cho had rolled her eyes. It was delicious.

“Shit, Harry,” Cho said, talking through a bite, “This is fantastic.”

“Agreed, and we’ll have leftovers for tomorrow,” he said.

“ _Good_. I’ll need to copy the recipe before I leave. My mom would love it,” Cho said.

“That, we can do.”

“So, how do you want to open presents?” Cho asked, looking towards the pile of presents they had placed under the Christmas tree the previous night.

“How about we alternate? You can go first,” Harry said.

“Alrighty.”

Cho set her half-eaten plate down on the couch and wandered over to the tree, picking up a medium square box wrapped in Rudolph patterned paper. As she sat back down, she shook it gently, her lips pursed in thought.

“Right. I’m going to guess it’s a necklace,” Cho said, smirking as she began to unwrap the paper.

Harry leaned back against the couch, watching as she pulled a decently sized cork board out of the box. A map of the US was etched into it, and a bright red string stemming from LA and landing in New York stretched across the map. Underneath, Harry had written as neatly as possible _2,775 miles._

Cho glanced up at him. “Oh, Harry. I love it. Did you make it yourself? It’s beautiful.”

Harry nodded, “Yeah, I made it. I thought it would be a good reminder that I’m always with you.”

Cho set the corkboard on the coffee table before enveloping Harry in a tight hug. He squeezed her back, knowing that she truly did love it.

“God, my eyes have watered more times on this trip than they have in the last year,” Cho said, letting out a laugh as she wiped the tears away.

Harry snorted.

“Alright. You’ve got two presents, but they’re all small,” Cho said.

Harry walked over to the tree, picking up the presents before returning to his seat. The first present he pulled onto his lap was reasonably small and neatly wrapped. As he tore the paper off, he quickly realized what it was.

A petite picture frame sat on his lap, and inside was a photograph of him and Cho at their favorite park in LA. It was one of Harry’s most treasured photographs of them, but he’d never had the chance to get a copy of it for himself. He looked to Cho, a bright smile on her face, and let out a long sigh.

“Cho, I absolutely love it. I can’t wait to put it on my nightstand. You know how much I love this picture.”

“I _do_ know, and I thought it was about time that you had a copy of your own.”

“Thank you so much,” Harry said as he gently placed the picture frame on the coffee table.

“Go on, open your next one,” Cho said, gesturing towards the remaining present.

Harry sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes as he reached for his last present. After gently unsticking the bright green bow from the corner, he began to peel back the wrapping paper. And once the wrapping paper was done, he was met with a small white box. After raising a questioning eye at Cho, he took the tape off of the lid. Suddenly, he was staring at a snow globe. He picked it up out of the box, watching as specks of golden glitter floated gently over the replicated city of Los Angeles.

“Cho,” Harry began, his throat tightening, “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

Cho smiled warmly at him as she patted his thigh, “You don’t need to say anything, darling. I just know how much you love that New York snow globe of yours, and I wanted to get you something to remind you of where you came from. And I don’t want you to take this as a reminder of the city where a family abused you for years. Instead, I want it to represent your beginning, everything you’ve overcome, and the place where you learned how to be brave and not take shit from anyone.”

Harry sniffled as he took off his glasses, wiping the damp corner of his eyes. “Fuck, now you’ve turned _me_ into an absolute mess. I … _thank you._ ”

“Of course, Harry. Now, let’s make some hot chocolate, shall we?”

Laughing at the abrupt change of topic, Harry set down the snow globe next to his other present before trailing behind Cho into the kitchen.

Soon enough, the hot chocolate was ready. After making sure that copious amounts of whipped cream was used, the two of them settled back down onto the couch.

As Harry looked at Cho, who was busy taking a second look at her present, Harry couldn’t help but feel as though everything was right.

☙☙☙

“Cho! Are you ready?”

“Almost! Be there in one minute!”

Harry sighed, rolling his eyes as he checked his wristwatch. It wasn’t a secret that he was anal about leaving right on time, and yet he made no move to correct his impatience. Plus, Cho had been used to it for years.

Several minutes later, Cho walked out of Harry’s bedroom in a red dress that flared just above the waist and black kitten heels. She smiled broadly at Harry, twirling as she reached the front door.

“Well?” she asked.

“You look spectacular,” Harry said.

“Awe, shucks. And you look handsome as ever,” Cho said, winking.

Harry instinctively looked down at his outfit, which consisted of black and grey trousers in a plaid pattern and a cream cabled sweater.

“Really? Think I look okay?” Harry asked, wrinkling his forehead.

“I promise. Now, let’s get a move on before you bust your top,” Cho said, grinning as Harry pulled a face.

After Harry grabbed the small present he had purchased for Ron and Hermione off of the kitchen counter and they both pulled on their various outer layers, they left.

Once down the stairs, which had taken a bit longer than usual given Cho’s heels, they walked out into the frigid air. As Harry took a look around him, he let out a small gasp.

Although he’d seen snow in New York, this was different. There was something magical in the way it laid across the streets, sidewalks, and yards, and seeing it softly draped over lawn decorations made Harry grin. All around him, snow was falling.

“Never did I think I’d see a white Christmas,” Cho said, sticking her hands on her hips as she took a look around.

Harry nodded as he walked to the edge of the sidewalk. “I know the feeling.” There, he waved his hand in the air, hoping to hail a taxi. After several minutes of standing in the freezing cold, a cab driver finally noticed him and pulled into the curb. Quickly, Harry and Cho climbed in, both of their California-bred bodies desperate for warmth.

Harry had predicted correctly that there would be a fair amount of traffic. But, despite the slow down, the ride to the suburbs was relatively smooth. They arrived five minutes early, exactly what Harry liked.

Once the cab driver had been paid, he and Cho stepped out of the taxi. In front of them was a quaint house, and although small in size, Harry was fairly certain that it would’ve cost Ron and Hermione an arm and a leg.

As they walked up the driveway, Harry noticed a play structure sitting in the front yard, as well as a tire swing tied to the large tree in the middle of the lawn. A white picket fence outlined the yard, standing out against the robin blue paint of the house itself. All in all, it seemed like a lovely place to live.

After stepping onto the porch and knocking three times on the door, Harry quickly cleaned his glasses. Clusters of snowflakes had collected on the lenses, making it impossible to see. Meanwhile, Cho was doing her nervous dance, which consisted of shifting from one foot to the other. As Harry heard footsteps approaching, he shot Cho a warm smile and a nod, hoping to silently convey that everything was going to be alright.

Ron answered the door with a broad smile, his bright blue eyes twinkling against the darkness of his freckles. Behind him, Harry could see the silhouette of a small child zooming back and forth across a hallway.

“Harry! So glad you can make it,” Ron said, shaking hands with Harry before turning to Cho. “And you must be Cho, Harry’s friend from California. I’m Ron, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Cho shook his hand, smiling. “Likewise. Thank you so much for inviting us.”

“Of course! What’s Christmas without a little company? Oh, and please come in! Gosh, you two must be freezing out there,” Ron said, ushering them over the threshold.

As soon as Harry stepped into the house, he immediately recognized the smells of turkey, cranberry sauce, bread rolls, and gravy. Harry had, of course, been expected to cook Christmas dinner while living at his aunt and uncle’s house, but he’d never been allowed to partake in the meal. Instead, he’d often been fed the turkey bones that had a limited amount of meat on them, any wilted greens in the household, and, if he was lucky, a piece of bread.

The contrast between his Christmases in LA and Christmas in New York was overwhelming.

As Ron shut the door behind them, Hermione rounded the corner with a big smile on her face. Her corkscrew curls, which Harry presumed were frizzy due to the humidity of the kitchen, were tied into a loose knot on top of her head, showing off the off-the-shoulder neckline of her green a-line dress. Behind her, a small head full of medium brown curls poked out. Harry quickly saw how much she looked like both of her parents. While she had Hermione’s deep brown skin and natural hair, she had Ron’s freckles splattered all over her small body.

“Rose, are you really choosing now to be shy?” Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow as she looked down at her daughter.

Rose giggled as she stepped out from behind Hermione, squirming in her sequined blue dress.

“C’mon, Rosie. Say hi to Harry and Cho,” Ron said, scooping Rose up into his arms.

Rose slowly stuck out her hand, which Cho took.

“Pleased to meet you, Rose,” she said. Rose’s cheeks went red, and she gave Cho a toothy smile. “Hi.”

Next, Harry shook her hand, also exchanging greetings.

Once Rose had been put back down on the ground, Hermione stepped forward, wrapping Cho in a light hug. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Cho. Harry’s said nothing but wonderful things about you.”

Cho chuckled as she pulled back from the hug. “Well, I’d hope so.”

While Harry rolled his eyes, both Ron and Hermione laughed.

“And Harry,” Hermione said, kissing him on the cheek, “I’m so glad you could make it. Everyone, come on into the dining room while Ron and I finish cooking. Dinner should be ready in an hour or so, but we’ve got plenty of hors d’oeuvres.”

They were led into the neat living room, which was only separated from the kitchen by an island, and Harry and Cho took a seat at the dining room table, which was decorated with a tablecloth that had a pine and holly pattern, a candelabra that held tall red candles, and two small vases of poinsettias. It looked incredibly elegant, even surpassing Aunt Petunia’s meticulous table sets. It took a moment for Harry to convince himself that he was supposed to sit at the table. For once, his place wasn’t in the kitchen or his cupboard under the stairs.

While Hermione checked on the potatoes steaming in a pot on the stove, Ron brought over a platter full of bread rolls, carrots, cheese, and hummus. Harry locked eyes with Cho as his stomach rumbled, and he could tell that she was just as excited about the food as he was.

“Right. Here’s some hors d’oeuvres to get you started,” Ron said before returning to the kitchen and tending to the turkey in the oven.

“So,” Hermione said as she moved to a large silver mixing bowl on the island, “Cho, how are you liking New York so far?”

Cho’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I love it. It’s so different from LA, but in the best way possible. My poor body can’t get over how cold it is here. I never imagined I’d ever experience a white Christmas.”

Hermione smiled warmly at her as she stuck a spoon in the bowl and took a sample of what seemed to be homemade cranberry sauce. “It certainly doesn’t snow every year on Christmas, but when it does, it’s pretty magical. I’m originally from Florida, so it took some getting used to.”

“Wow, I didn’t know you were from Florida,” Harry said.

“Yeah, it doesn’t come up in conversation too much,” Hermione said, shrugging.

“Why’d you move to New York?” Harry asked.

Hermione let out a heavy sigh. “I’d dreamt of moving to New York for as long as I could remember. I was just entranced by the sophistication and liberalness of the city, and I craved it. In fact, the only colleges I applied to were ones in New York. Luckily, I was able to get into NYU, and I never looked back.”

“That’s amazing that you set your mind to it and made it happen. Were your parents supportive?” Cho asked.

“Oh, they were wonderful. I know that they miss me, especially since I’m an only child, but I think they could tell that I didn’t belong in Florida,” Hermione said.

“That makes sense. So, did you meet Ron here?” Harry asked.

Ron let out a bark of laughter, and Hermione shot him a look.

“Oh boy, that’s a fun story,” Ron said, the tips of his ears going red from delight.

“ _Ronald Weasley_ ―” Hermione began, but she was promptly interrupted.

“So, I was already working as a journalist at 'The Guardian.' One day, I got this call from a woman looking to apply for the open position of second head journalist. I told her to come in, and we did an interview. Her resume was off the charts impressive. I mean, I could hardly believe that someone could accomplish all that she had in such a short amount of time. Anyway, I hired her. The thing is, I could tell that I liked her right away. Unfortunately, at this point she was dating a guy named Viktor Krum. He was a real asshole ―”

“― You only disliked him because I was dating him,” Hermione butted in, hands on her hips.

“― _Anyway_ , this guy, Viktor, would visit her on her lunch break everyday. Real clingy guy, and from the looks of it, Hermione was head over heels for him. The thing is, all the writers and photographers went out to dinner one night to celebrate a front page story that had been a huge success. While there, Hermione got drunk ―”

“― _Tipsy_ , Ronald ―”

“― and she confesses to me that Viktor is driving her nuts. Like, up the wall. And while we’re talking, she somehow convinces herself to break up with him. So there I am, watching this drunk woman decide to break up with her boyfriend, and I had no idea how to stop it. I literally had to take the payphone away from her, and God was she _pissed_ at me. She didn’t speak to me for a week after, despite the fact that we had to share an office at the time. She came around eventually, though, and broke up with Viktor while completely sober. Then, I asked her out, and the rest is history,” Ron said, a bright smile on his face as he watched Hermione’s mouth disappear into a thin line.

“What a story,” Cho said, laughing as she leaned back in her chair.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she began to strain the potatoes. “My husband is an absolute menace. I swear he takes joy in embarrassing me.”

“Oh, I absolutely do. It’s one of my greatest pleasures in life,” Ron said, beaming.

“Man, I only hope to have a story of my own like that someday,” Harry joked.

“Ah, I’m confident you’ll find someone. Hey, has anyone taken your fancy at the office?” Ron asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Harry caught Cho’s eyes from across the table, and he could tell that she was slightly concerned. Harry had been known to carry out impulsive ideas, and coming out to a couple that he’d only met a month before certainly wouldn’t have been that far fetched.

As he looked back to Ron and Hermione, his stomach did a flip. It was clear that they were having a silent conversation of their own.

“You know …” Ron began slowly, “ _Anyone_ , no matter what gender they are. I hear Neville is quite popular.”

At that, Hermione elbowed him. Harry could feel heat rising to his cheeks, and he immediately wondered if it was that obvious that he wasn’t straight.

Awkwardly, he cleared his throat, “I … um, well … my landlord is pretty … nice.”

Hermione quirked an eyebrow, “The guy who collects wishbones?”

Harry snorted, “Yeah, the guy who collects wishbones.”

“Buddy, I’m all for loving who you love, but really? The guy seems like a grade-A weirdo,” Ron said as he poured the steamed potatoes into the KitchenAid mixer, along with milk, butter, and salt.

Harry let out a bark of laughter, “Okay, in his defense, he’s lovely to look at. Plus, he’s actually a pretty interesting person.”

“Well, I’d assume so, considering his … hobby,” Ron said, laughing at his own joke.

“You know, Harry was planning on introducing me to Draco before I leave. Why don’t you two come along? We can embarrass Harry together,” Cho said.

“Oh,” Hermione said, her eyes lighting up, “I’d love to meet the man that has Harry’s head turned to mush.”

“I second that,” Ron said. “I’ve got to meet the wishbone guy.”

Harry made a face. “Fine, fine. I’ll give him a call tomorrow and see if he’s around on the 27th.”

Cho clasped her hands together, a wide smile spreading across her narrow face. “Excellent! Oh, I’ll need to prepare a list of questions ―”

“― Oh God, _Cho_ ―”

“Shush, Harry. I’m brainstorming.”

“You are _so_ embarrassing,” Harry said, covering his face with his hands.

“You love it,” Cho said, winking.

By the time dinner had rolled around, the group had managed to cover a multitude of both complex and mundane ideas. They spent a good amount of time talking about Rose’s desire for a younger brother. Rose, who had been rolling around on the carpet space between the kitchen island and dining table, chimed in on the conversation to explain her point. She simply wanted a baby brother to boss around. It was clear that Hermione’s patience was being tested, but Ron was eventually able to reason with his wife and daughter.

Both Harry and Cho got up to assist Hermione and Ron in bringing the platters upon platters of food over to the table. After everyone was settled in their seats and armed with something to drink, Hermione cleared her throat.

“I’d just like to say thank you both for coming over to celebrate with us today. Ron and I feel so fortunate that we’ve gotten to know you through work, Harry, and it’s an absolute pleasure seeing you in the office everyday. And Cho, it’s been so lovely meeting you, as well as getting to know you, and we’d love to get together with you anytime you visit New York,” she said, raising her glass. “So, here’s to friends and family.”

Harry, Cho, Ron, and Rose joined in raising their glasses, unanimously shouting, “To friends and family!”

Then, they promptly dug in.

Harry could feel his eyes widening as the food platters were passed around, the smells of freshly baked turkey and hot gravy hitting him. As Ron passed the bowl of mashed potatoes, it took Harry a moment to realize that it was being passed to him.

“Hey, Harry, you alright?” Ron asked softly.

Harry shook his head slightly in an attempt to clear it, and he let out an airy laugh. “Yeah, yeah. All good. Thanks.”

Before he could embarrass himself further, he took the mashed potatoes and heaped a large spoonful onto his plate.

As he sat at the table, watching the people he had somehow managed to grow closest to in life laugh and joke around him, he felt truly loved.


	15. Chapter 15

Two days later, Harry found himself staring intently at his closet. He, Cho, Ron, Hermione, and Draco were set to meet up in thirty minutes, and he still had no idea what to wear. Meanwhile, he knew that Cho would be nearly done getting ready. With a heavy sigh, he rifled through his shirts for the fifth time.

After a few minutes, he was finally able to land on a deep green sweater and khaki chinos. Once he’d pulled them on as quickly as possible, he took a long look at himself in the mirror. There were dark circles under his eyes, having not slept much the night before due to a combination of excitement and nervousness.

As he went about trying to fix his unruly curls, he thought back to the phone conversation he’d had with Draco once he and Cho had gotten back from Ron and Hermione’s house on Christmas night.

_“Hello?” Draco had answered._

_“Hey, Malfoy.”_

_“Potter?” he’d asked, surprise in his voice._

_“So,” Harry had begun, “I was wondering if you’d like to meet up with me and some of my friends on the 27th.”_

_There had been a pause._

_“Why the hell would I want to meet your friends?” Draco had asked._

_“Because you’re my friend, and that’s what friends do. They meet each other,” Harry had said bluntly._

_“Oh.”_

_“Well?”_

_“Yes, okay. Fine. Where are we meeting?”_

_“Well, we’re meeting two of our friends at Nina’s Cafe two blocks over. My friend, Cho, is staying with me, so the three of us could just walk over together around noon,” Harry had said._

_“Alright. See you then.”_

_“Wait!”_

_“What, Potter?”_

_“Merry Christmas.”_

_Draco had let out a heavy sigh. “Merry Christmas to you too.”_

There was a knock on his bedroom door, interrupting his thoughts. Without waiting for a response, Cho poked her head in.

“You nearly ready? It’s almost a quarter to twelve,” she said.

Harry gave himself one final look over before heading towards the door. “Yep. I’m ready.”

As soon as they’d layered up and Harry had grabbed the keys, they headed out. Harry presumed they were meeting Draco in the lobby, although he’d never actually specified. At this realization, a wave of nerves erupted in his stomach.

“You okay?” Cho asked, grabbing his hand as they made their way down the stairs.

Harry nodded. “Fine. Just a little nervous.”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about. We’re just meeting up with some friends of yours. That’s all.”

“No, I know. I guess it’s Draco who’s throwing me off.”

“Did I just hear my name?”

Harry spun around at the sound of the voice. Behind him, Draco was standing at the 2nd floor landing, and Harry couldn’t help but let his eyes wander. Draco was dressed impeccably in a beige wool turtleneck and smart plaid trousers that fit him in just the right way. And there was a certain heat behind his eyes, which were more intense than Harry remembered. His pupils were dilated to the point where his irises were nearly not visible. Harry cocked his head, wondering why that was.

“Hey. Cho, this is Draco Malfoy. Draco, this is my best friend, Cho,” Harry said.

Cho stuck out her hand, which Draco softly shook.

“Pleasure to meet you, Cho. I’ve heard great things about you,” Draco said.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Draco,” Cho said, grinning.

As they continued down the stairs and into the lobby, Harry felt both elated at the fact that Draco and Cho had fallen into an easy conversation.

“So, what’s the biggest difference between New York and Los Angeles?” Draco asked.

“God, where do I even begin? Let’s see. I suppose the mannerisms in the people. New Yorkers seem to be very fast paced, wanting to get where they need to go as quickly as possible. People in LA are like that too, although we’re not in as much of a hurry. There’s also the weather, which isn’t surprising,” Cho said.

“Had you ever seen snow before coming here?” Draco asked.

“Well,” Cho began as they stepped out onto the street, “Yes, but only a handful of times. My family and I sometimes went on road trips to Lake Tahoe when I was a child.”

“Ah, Lake Tahoe. I’ve always wanted to visit.”

“Have you ever been to California, Malfoy?” Harry asked.

“Only once, when I was a small child. Mother and Father took me to see my paternal grandmother, who was in hospice at the time. I don’t remember it much, but I do have photographs,” Draco said, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck. “I would like to go again, though. I imagine it’s quite different from when I was a child.”

“Harry and I were both born and raised there, so I can attest that it’s very different from when we were little. Wouldn’t you say, Harry?” Cho asked.

“Definitely. I think it’s a lot more built up nowadays, and tourism has boomed a lot,” Harry said.

“Oh, absolutely. Anyway, Draco, it’s a lovely place, and you should definitely come for a visit,” Cho said.

Draco hummed in thought, “Yes, certainly.”

They reached the cafe just in the nick of time. Ron and Hermione were just pulling up in their car. As Hermione tried to navigate her way into a tight parking space, Ron gave them a bright smile and a cheerful wave.

Hermione was eventually able to neatly park the car, and after putting money into the parking meter, they met Harry, Draco, and Cho on the sidewalk. Ron and Hermione both took turns embracing Harry and Cho in tight hugs before turning to Draco.

“Hello. You must be Draco. I’m Hermione, and this is my husband, Ron. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Hermione said, shaking his hand.

“You too. I’ve heard a lot about you both,” Draco said, smiling politely.

“Alright, let’s get out of the cold, shall we?” Ron suggested, and everyone readily agreed.

Once inside the cafe, they found a table near the back. It wasn’t too crowded, which Harry was thankful for. As they settled into their seats, Cho volunteered to place everyone’s orders at the counter. After they decided what to get, Cho headed over to the line trailing from the front counter.

“So, Draco,” Hermione began, “I hear you’re Harry’s landlord. How long have you been in the business?”

“A few years, now. I bought the building soon after parents died a while back,” Draco said.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. Do you enjoy your work?” Hermione asked.

Draco nodded, “Definitely. I don’t think I could’ve asked for a better job.”

“Hey, that’s great,” Ron said, “In today’s world, it’s a rarity to enjoy your work.”

“I agree, and I feel very fortunate that I’m able to.”

Several minutes later, they saw Cho wander over carrying two cups of tea.

“Come on, Ron, let’s go help her,” Hermione said, scooting back in her chair.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Ron said, trailing behind her.

Then, it was just Harry and Draco.

Harry awkwardly cleared his throat. “Hey, thanks for coming today. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course, Potter. As you said, we’re … friends,” Draco said, the tips of his ears going pink.

“How was your Christmas?” Harry asked.

Draco shrugged, “The usual.”

Harry frowned, realizing he wasn’t going to get much more out of him, “Good, good.”

He was slightly relieved when Cho, Ron, and Hermione returned with everyone’s orders of caffeine, pastries, and baked goods. Once they were all seated at the table again, conversation erupted.

“So, Draco, what was your first impression of Harry?” Cho asked.

Harry subtly kicked her under the table.

Draco snorted, “I got the impression that he was incredibly stubborn, and I wasn’t wrong.”

“I am _not_ stubborn,” Harry said, although he knew he was lying through his teeth.

“Please, Harry. You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something. Do you remember when Snape, our chemistry teacher, made your life a living hell, and so you did the same thing right back to him?” Cho asked, grinning.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I remember.”

“Case in point.”

As they continued to chatter and make fun of one another, Harry couldn’t help but long to get Draco alone.

☙☙☙

After four and a half hours in the cafe, Ron and Hermione said they had to go relieve their babysitter. They exchanged telephone numbers with Cho, promising to keep in touch with her, and reiterated how lovely it was to meet Draco before heading on their way.

Once they were gone, Cho turned to Draco.

“Well, Harry and I are heading back to his apartment. Want to come play Monopoly and drink hot chocolate with us?” she asked.

Draco smiled warmly, sending ripples of butterflies through Harry’s stomach. “I’d be delighted.”

The walk back to the apartment complex wasn’t long, although it was bitterly cold out. The sun was beginning to bleed into the horizon, casting a brilliant orange glow against the cluster of clouds drifting across the winter sky and the blankets of frost lining the streets of Manhattan.

By the time they got back to Harry’s apartment, they were all slightly blue from the frigid air. Harry immediately went to build a fire in the living room while Draco and Cho took off their coats. Once the fire was crackling to life, its orange and yellow flames licking the inside of the brick chimney, Harry stripped off his outerwear before heading into the kitchen.

There, he hollered, “Who wants hot chocolate?”

“Both of us! And don’t be stingy about the whipped cream!” Cho shouted from the living room.

Harry rolled his eyes but set out to work on the three mugs of hot chocolate nonetheless. After heating milk on the stove, he poured in a generous amount of hot chocolate mix. Once it was mixed in, he went about pouring it evenly amongst the three mugs before dolloping neat mountains of whipped cream on top.

When he walked back into the living room, armed with two out of the three mugs, Cho erupted in cheers. Even Draco was smiling warmly. Harry had only seen that look a handful of times, most recently being that of their ice skating adventure.

As Harry set the two mugs down on the coffee table, he could see that Cho and Draco had already begun to set up the game of Monopoly. The board was spread across the floor, laying next to the fireplace, and the money had been neatly separated into different piles. Once Harry returned with the last mug, Cho patted the space between her and Draco, and Harry promptly sat down on the ground.

“Before either of you imbeciles say a word, I want to be the Scottie dog,” Draco said, his sharp nose pointed in the air.

Cho snorted, “The dog is all yours, sweetie. I call the racing car.”

Harry scoffed, “Fine, I’ll be the top hat.”

“Excellent. Now that we’ve got our characters settled, who wants to be the banker?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Definitely not Harry. He’s shit at it,” Cho said nonchalantly.

“Fuck off. I am not,” Harry said while attempting to keep a straight face.

“Right. Do you have a strong desire to be the banker, Cho?” Draco asked.

Cho frowned, “Not particularly.”

“I’ll be the banker then, meaning $1500 for all of us,” Draco said, handing out the first round of money.

Once that was done, the game began.

Harry went first, landing on Baltic Avenue. He promptly bought the property for $60, sticking his tongue out at Cho as Draco handed him the card.

Cho was next, her turn landing her on Vermont Avenue. In retaliation, she bought it for $100.

As Harry watched Draco pick up the dice in his long, slender fingers, he wondered what Draco’s strategy was going into the game. He’d played enough with Cho over the years to know her tactic by heart, which happened to be the same as his ― buying all the properties they could before running out of money.

Draco, however, seemed to be going about it in a different way. After landing on St. Charles Place, which he could have purchased for a mere $140, he decided to pass.

“Why the hell are you not buying that, Draco?” Cho asked, frowning.

Draco shrugged nonchalantly, “Good things come to those who wait.”

“That’s complete and utter bullshit. Harry, go,” Cho said, her voice snappy with competitiveness.

As the game continued, Harry and Cho quickly realized that they had, perhaps, made a mistake. In all their time of playing Monopoly, they’d never played against someone who was precise in executing what they did or didn’t buy. After the first time around the board, Harry was the proud owner of Baltic Avenue, States Avenue, B&O Railroad, and Marvin Gardens. Cho wasn’t far behind, also racking up four different properties. Draco, on the other hand, was in a completely different place. He only owned two properties, Boardwalk and Park Place, which just so happened to be the most expensive properties on the board. It was then that Harry knew he and Cho were screwed.

And he was right. Four long, grueling hours later, Draco had swept them clean off the board with his plethora of expensive hotels and houses. By the end of it, Harry was bankrupt, and Cho only had a single dollar to her name. Meanwhile, Draco had managed to collect all but two of the $500’s, which still remained in the bank.

Harry laid down on the ground, his back resting against the hardwood floor, and let out an audible groan. “Well, that was terrible.”

Cho laid down with him, “I wholeheartedly agree.”

As Draco followed, his shoulder bumping against Harry’s on the ground, he said, “Oh, come now. You’re both being poor sports. What happened to your Christmas spirit?”

“It got taken, along with all of my money,” Harry said bitterly.

“I think I lost my Christmas spirit when I had to mortgage Marvin Gardens,” Cho concluded.

“Well, I had a lovely time,” Draco said, the smile on his lips reaching his bright eyes.

“Of course you did,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “Also, you’re welcome to stay for dinner. I have no idea what we’re having, though.”

Draco turned his head, looking directly into Harry’s eyes, “I’d love to stay. Thank you.”

Harry felt as though his breath was caught in his throat, his eyes locked with Draco’s. Time seemed to stop for a moment, the rest of the world falling away. As he stared at Draco, he realized he’d never been so close. He could see a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of Draco’s nose, as well as the light blonde shade of his long eyelashes.

It wasn’t until Cho knocked her ankle against Harry’s that he realized he’d been awkwardly silent.

“Great. We’ll be glad to have you. Any specific requests for dinner?” Harry asked, swallowing his embarrassment.

“Why don’t we get takeout? I don’t want to make you cook, especially since it’s almost eight. I’ll pay,” Draco said.

Harry sat up, frowning, “Nope. No way am I letting you pay for all of it.”

Draco sat up with a sigh, “Potter, we’ve been over this. I have the ability to pay. It’s really not an issue.”

“Why don’t we split it? Harry and I can pay for one half, and you can pay for the other,” Cho said, also sitting up.

“My god, you two are just as stubborn as each other,” Draco said, rolling his eyes as he began to put the Monopoly game away. “I’m going to pay. Consider it a late Christmas gift.”

“But I didn’t get you anything,” Harry said, his mouth disappearing into a thin line.

“Alright, fine. If you let me pay for tonight’s dinner, I’ll let you pay for our next dinner together. Happy?” Draco asked.

Harry’s heart swelled at his words. _Our next dinner together._

“Alright. I’m happy with that,” Harry said.

“Finally,” Draco muttered under his breath. After the three of them finished picking up the game of Monopoly, they moved onto the couch. The fire was still going strong in the fireplace, it’s flames curling off of the burning log. The apartment was now adequately warm, although all of them still opted for a blanket.

“What are we in the mood for?” Harry asked.

“I’d be happy with anything,” Draco said.

Cho hummed in thought as she tucked her legs onto Harry’s lap. “How about Japanese?”

“No,” Draco said, shaking his head.

“Right. What about Indian?” Harry suggested.

“No, something different,” Draco said.

Harry snorted. “Weren’t you the one who said you were in the mood for anything?”

Draco let out a huff of air, “Yes, Potter. Just not those two.”

“Fine. How does pizza sound?” Cho asked.

“Excellent,” Draco said.

“Okay, I’ve got the number for the pizza place down the street. What do you two want?” Harry asked.

“Oh, Uncle Herb’s? They have great food there. I’ll get their vegetable pizza,” Draco said.

“You know my order,” Cho said, smirking.

Harry nodded, “Yep, pepperoni, and I’ll just get cheese. Want any garlic bread with it?”

“Yes!” Cho said just as Draco blurted, “Nope.”

Cho frowned at Draco, “Who says no to garlic bread?”

“I just … don’t like garlic very much. You two are welcome to have it, though,” Draco said, red blooming across his cheeks.

“Yeah, okay. Do you want anything else, Malfoy?” Harry asked.

“A salad, maybe?” Draco said.

Cho wrinkled her nose. “A salad completely defeats the purpose of getting pizza. Come on, get something carb filled and buttery. Be gross like the rest of us.”

Draco let out a chuckle. “Fine, I’ll get plain rolls. Happy?”

Cho nodded. “Very.”

“Okay, folks, I’ll be right back,” Harry said, wandering towards the hallway. Once in his room, he dialed the number on the menu. After placing the order, he was informed that it would be ready in twenty minutes, and the delivery person would meet him in the lobby of the apartment complex.

“Alright, how much was it?” Draco asked as he dug his wallet out of his back pocket.

“$2.25,” Harry said, plopping back down on the couch.

“Okay, perfect,” Draco said, pulling the money out of his wallet and placing it on the coffee table, next to their empty mugs of hot chocolate.

They spent the next fifteen minutes exchanging childhood stories. The star of the show was Draco’s tale of visiting Japan when he was seven. He’d apparently been very independent as a child, and he’d insisted on packing his own suitcase. Unfortunately, when they arrived in Japan Draco’s mother quickly discovered that not only had he neglected to bring any socks but also underwear. Because of this, they’d spent their first day of vacation looking for clothing stores in the rain.

At 8:45, Harry stood up to go downstairs, and Draco volunteered to go with him. Before Harry could protest, Cho said that she would stay in the apartment and get plates out. As Harry and Draco headed out the door, he turned back to shoot a look at Cho. She simply winked in return.

As they began their descent down the stairs, Draco cleared his throat. “So. Cho’s lovely.”

Harry grinned, “Yeah, she’s sure something else.”

“I’m really glad you were able to come out to her. It’s obvious how close you two are,” Draco said.

“Me too. She’s the closest thing I have to family, so it definitely meant the world that she didn’t give two shits about me being queer.”

Draco nodded, “And she’s leaving tomorrow?”

Harry let out a long sigh, “Yeah. I’m not sure when I’ll get to see her next, which is a bit overwhelming to think about. I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.”

“Well, I imagine you’ll be busy with work once your vacation is over. My dinner offer still stands, you know,” Draco said softly.

Harry blinked at him, warmth spreading through his chest. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

“Good.”

“So, any plans for New Year’s?” Harry asked.

“Not really. Why?”

“Want to get together? I don’t have any plans either,” Harry said.

“Alright. What do you have in mind?” Harry shrugged.

“Dinner?”

“Sounds good. Come to my place at four.”

“Will do.”

The pizza delivery man arrived a few minutes later. After Draco paid, they made their way back up the stairs. By the time they arrived, Cho had laid out three plates on the kitchen counter, along with glasses of water.

After dishing up their food, they settled back into the couch. Harry found himself sandwiched between Cho and Draco, and he could feel warmth coming from both of them. And although he knew saying goodbye to Cho the following day would be heartbreaking, he was thankful that he’d been able to spend a few days with her, as well as introduce her to his new friends. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that her visit would be worth the pain of her going back to California.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning that there's an explicit sex scene in this chapter <3

Harry wiped at the tears stinging his eyes as he hailed a taxi at the airport. He’d just dropped Cho off, and he felt empty. The pain of saying goodbye had been even worse than he’d expected. His throat was too tight to properly greet the taxi driver as he climbed in, attempting to hold back as many tears as possible.

The ride back to his apartment was filled with quiet melancholia. By the time he arrived, he felt mentally exhausted. After paying the taxi driver and stepping into the lobby, he decided that he needed comfort. He needed Draco.

Climbing the stairs, he walked past the 2nd floor landing and continued onto the 7th. His heart pounded as he made his way to Draco’s apartment. Once he knocked, he waited for the sound of Draco’s approaching footsteps. However, they never came.

Wondering if Draco was even home, he pressed his eye against the peephole in the middle of the door. What he saw made his stomach lurch.

Through the distortion of the glass, he could make out the fuzzy figure of Draco dragging something large across his living room floor. Something that seemed alarmingly human.

Panic creeping through his veins, he hastily opened the door and slipped inside. As soon as Draco looked up, his eyes widened. Harry had been right in what he’d seen. At the base of Draco’s feet was a pudgy man in what looked like an expensive suit, and he looked oddly pale.

“Potter ―”

“Oh my god. _Oh my god._ What the fuck, Draco? Fuck, why is there a dead man in your apartment?” Harry asked, his breath coming in ragged breaths.

“Potter. Harry. I can explain. Just … let me take care of this,” Draco said, gesturing to the body.

“What, so you can kill me too? No fucking way. I’m getting out of here. I need to call the police,” Harry said, making his way back towards the door.

He felt like he was going to throw up.

Just as he was about to turn the doorknob, he realized that Draco was standing directly behind him.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, Potter.”

He felt a sharp pain on the back of his head. Then, nothing.

☙☙☙

As Harry came to, it took him a moment to remember what had happened. He was in Draco’s apartment, although something was off. He couldn’t move.

Harry quickly realized that there was a washcloth stuffed in his mouth, and his wrists were bound behind his back, tied to one of Draco’s bed posts. As his vision became clearer, he realized that Draco was standing in the corner of the room, his face shrouded in shadows.

The dead body. Harry remembered the dead body.

“Oh, good. You’re awake. Right. I realize that there is some explanation due, but I need you to listen. You can’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you," Draco said.

Harry let out a muffled cry, straining against his ties.

“Okay. Well, there’s no easy way to put this. I’m … a vampire.”

Harry paused. _Did … he just say he was a vampire?_

“I know it sounds ridiculous. Trust me. I _know_. I suppose I need to give you some context. Right. I was twenty-one when it happened. My parents and I were walking back from the movie theater one night. It was pitch black. We always took a shortcut through an alley. It was the biggest mistake we could have made.

“As we were walking through the alley, something grabbed us. It happened so fast. I can still hear my mother’s screams and my father’s pleadings. Before I could do anything, they were on the ground. There was a … creature leaning over their bodies, and I realized that she was sucking their blood.

“A different creature had me pinned against the sidewall of the building. He latched onto my neck, and I could feel my blood begin to drain. I don’t know how, but I managed to push him off of me. I escaped, but I wish I hadn’t. By the time I got back to the apartment, I was violently sick. I threw up blood all over the living room, and I could feel my body tearing itself apart. I blacked out from the pain.

“When I came to, I was lying in a pool of my blood. As I sat up, I could immediately tell that something was different. _I_ was different. I ran to the bathroom to look in the mirror, and it was then that I pieced together what had happened.

“I remember seeing my canine fangs for the first time. They were sharp and pointed, and blood was dripping from the spots where they had pushed through my gums. And my eyes. They were grey. When I was a child, I had bright blue eyes. And I … I was craving blood.

“I didn’t know why, but I immediately felt the need to leave my apartment. So I did. I began to patrol the nearby blocks, waiting for someone. Anyone.

“After an hour of watching ― _waiting_ ― I found what I was looking for. Do you remember hearing about Professor Strode? He was part of the faculty at NYU, and several students of his had come forward saying that he had sexually abused them. It became national news.”

Slowly, Harry nodded.

“Well, I saw him walking towards me. As he began to walk past the alley I was hiding in, I grabbed him and pulled him into the shadows. It was instincts, I suppose. It only took a moment to snap his neck, and then I drained his blood.

“As soon as I finished draining him, the strangest thing happened. His body disappeared, and in place of it was a single wishbone.

“I carried the wishbone back with me to my apartment. Once I was there, I cleaned myself up and then collapsed on the couch. I couldn’t process what I had just done. I remember staring at the wishbone sitting on the coffee table.

“I eventually realized that a wishbone signified the taking of a life. And as time progressed, I became better at feeding. _Killing_. I made a vow to myself to only kill the scum of society ― those who raped, and killed, and broke every moral code in the book.

“Now, I’m going to take your gag out, okay? I’m trusting you to not scream,” Draco said.

As soon as he took the washcloth out, Harry could feel how stiff he was. He took a moment to stretch his jaw before turning to Draco.

“Alright. Let’s say I _do_ believe you. Why would you keep the wishbones?” he asked.

Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair, “To remind me of the monster I am. Just … _please believe me_. Ask me any questions you’d like.”

“Have … have you ever wanted to kill me?” Harry asked.

Draco let out a soft laugh, “No. First of all, your blood doesn’t smell good. I like it savory, and yours is sweet. Second of all, you’re not a bad person, meaning you’re off limits.”

Harry frowned, “What, so my blood isn’t good enough for you? God, never in a million years did I think that I would be insulted by a vampire.”

“Your blood just … isn’t my type,” Draco said, taking a seat on the bed.

“Rude.”

Draco snorted, “I’d like to untie you. Can I trust you to not run away?”

Slowly, Harry nodded.

Draco leaned down, swiftly undoing the knot behind Harry’s back. As soon as the rope fell to the ground, Harry stood up. For a moment, he thought about running. Then, he realized he wanted more answers.

“So,” he began, taking a seat next to Draco on the bed, “Garlic. You didn’t want the garlic bread when we got pizza.”

Draco let out a chuckle, and he nodded, “Yes, that myth is true. We don’t like garlic. It makes our blood burn.”

Harry grimaced, “Right. What about human food, then? I’m surprised you’re able to eat it.”

“You’re right. I _am_ able to eat it. The food just doesn’t give me pleasure. It doesn’t fill me. I suppose it’s a bit like eating cardboard.”

“Huh. Did … did you have anything to do with Mel and Nancy’s murders?” Harry asked.

Draco shook his head solemnly. “No. I’d never do that. I might be a monster, but I’m not cruel.”

Harry frowned, thinking back to the night they had spent together at Hedwig’s Feather. “What about the men you were staring at in the club? Were you looking out of lust or hunger?”

Crimson red bloomed across Draco’s cheeks. “I … sometimes, when I’m feeling pitiful, I’ll go to Headwig’s Feather and let myself pretend that I’m there to pick out my next meal. The people that I kill generally don’t have the type of blood I like. It’s usually sweet like yours. When I’m at the club, though … there are so many people there who I’d give anything to eat. So, for a few hours, I’m able to give myself that luxury of imagining a nice tasting meal.”

Harry nodded, shoving down the smug feeling that came with knowing Draco hadn’t been looking at other men for sex. “And what happened to the guy I caught you with?”

“Well … let’s just say I’ve had dinner.”

“Right.”

“I’m … sorry I lied to you, Potter. I hope you understand that I just couldn’t risk telling you, no matter how much I wanted to.”

Harry looked up, his eyes catching Draco’s, “You wanted to tell me?”

The tips of Draco’s ears turned red, “Of course I wanted to tell you. You’re the closest person I have.”

Instinctively, Harry took Draco’s hand, which was warm to the touch. “Well, I believe you, and … I’d like to be here for you.”

Before Harry could process what was happening, Draco’s lips were on his. They were soft and gentle, and Harry leaned into the kiss. He felt his hand wandering to the nape of Draco’s neck, pulling him closer.

It was everything he’d ever wanted.

After a moment, Draco pulled back.

“Shit, Potter. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean ―”

“Hey,” Harry said, moving his hand to cup Draco’s cheek, “Don’t be sorry. I’ve been wanting that since the night we met.”

Draco hesitantly met Harry’s gaze, “I … don’t understand. I just told you I’m a monster that kills people, and you still like me?”

Harry let out a soft laugh, “I think the whole vampire thing will take awhile for me to get used to, but yes. I still like you. You … like me?”

“Potter ―”

“Draco, we just kissed. Call me Harry."

“Harry, I’ve been falling more and more in love with you every single day.”

Harry briefly pressed his lips to Draco’s before lying back on the bed and holding his arms out. Draco slowly settled into them, and Harry began to run his fingers through Draco’s hair.

“I … love you too. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” Harry said gently.

Draco looked up at him, “So, what does this mean?”

Harry let out a long sigh, “It means that I’m here to love you and help you in any way that I can.”

Tears pricked the corner of Draco’s eyes, “Really?”

“Really. Although I must say, I didn’t know you had a soft side.”

Draco snorted, “Don’t get used to it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

A soft silence fell over them, and Harry could feel his heart beating fast. Despite the fact that their first kiss hadn’t exactly been what he had imagined, it had filled him with warmth nonetheless. He concentrated on the slowness of Draco’s breath and the softness of his hair.

Eventually, Harry broke the silence. “So, how often do you have to … feed?”

“Every three days, usually. I was going to make it four so we could have New Year’s together.”

“No, no, don’t stop on my account. What if I went with you?” Harry asked.

Draco raised an eyebrow, “You want to go with me?”

“Why not? I’ve got to get used to it, haven’t I?”

Draco shook his head in disbelief, “Well, I guess.”

“Do you have a person in mind?”

“There’s this man. His name is Dick McConnell, and he’s one of the richest men in New York. He’s known for being both a sexist and racist asshole. Not that I’m surprised, you know. He lives in a mansion on the outskirts of town,” Draco said.

“So, what? A break-in, then?”

“I suppose you could call it that.”

“Okay, I’m in.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Draco murmured, wrapping his arm around Harry’s waist.

Harry pressed a light kiss on the top of Draco’s head, “Ridiculously head over heels for you.”

“God, no. That was awful, Harry.”

Harry laughed, “It’s what you signed up for.”

“Maybe I’ll return you. Think I could get a refund?”

“I’d like to see you try.”

☙☙☙

Harry had ended up falling asleep in Draco’s bed, stripped to his underwear. Their bodies had been wrapped around each other after hours of chatting about everything and nothing. When he woke the next morning, he could feel something hard digging into his ass. He blinked, realizing what it was.

Turning over, he found that Draco was staring at him.

“You’re hard.”

“Thank you for stating the obvious, Harry.”

“I didn’t know vampires could get hard.”

“You’d be surprised what we can do.”

Harry could feel his own cock beginning to harden at the thought of sex.

“I’ve never done anything with a guy.”

“That’s okay. I can show you. And we don’t have to do anything now. We can go at your pace.”

Harry swallowed thickly, “I want to do something now.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, “Are you sure? There’s no pressure ―”

Harry promptly shut him up with a kiss, his body desperate to get closer to him. Their lips were feverish, pressing against each other fast and rough. Now fully hard, Harry let out a low groan as their cocks brushed against each other through their underwear.

“Fuck, Draco,” Harry murmured.

He could feel Draco’s hands trying to dip beneath his underwear, and he promptly got the message. Without a second thought, he shimmied out of them, and Draco did the same.

Now fully flushed against one another, the feeling of Draco’s skin was overwhelming.

“Sit up,” Draco said, pulling himself into a sitting position against the headboard.

Before Harry knew it, he was being pulled onto Draco’s lap. Underneath him, he could feel Draco’s prick rubbing against his ass. He groaned at the sensation, letting himself melt into Draco’s mouth, as his fingers dragged up Draco’s back, feeling his nails dig into his flesh.

“God, Harry. I need you,” Draco whispered against his lips.

“Do you have condoms and lube?”

Without answering, Draco reached over to his nightstand, opening the drawer. The sight of the condom and lube that Draco pulled out made Harry’s breath catch. They were really doing this.

“Okay. You’re sure you’re alright with this?” Draco asked.

Harry leaned forward, his lips brushing against Draco’s ear, “I want you in me. I want to feel all of you.”

As Harry pulled back, he could see that Draco’s cheeks were bright red.

“I need to prep you,” he said.

Harry nodded. Draco flipped them over, and Harry let out a yelp of surprise. His back was now pressed against the mattress, and Draco was hovering over him, putting the condom on himself. Harry watched as he squeezed lube onto his fingers before pushing Harry’s knees up.

“You ready?”

“Yes.”

Harry let out a low hiss as Draco’s index finger prodded at his hole. The lube felt cool against his skin, taking away from the burning feeling of Draco slipping his finger in up to the first knuckle.

“Doing okay?” Draco asked.

Harry nodded. Slowly, Draco continued to press his finger in, stopping with each knuckle. Harry groaned, feeling full.

As soon as Draco had put the full length of his finger in, he gently began to move it in and out in small thrusts. Harry tilted his head back, his fingers gripping the sheets. As the minutes passed, Draco’s finger sliding in and out got smoother, the burn of his hole stretching lessening.

“Another,” Harry said hoarsely, and Draco nodded.

Draco repeated the same steps for the second and third finger, slowly opening Harry up until he was fully stretched. As Draco’s three fingers moved in and out of him, curling slightly so that they hit Harry’s prostate, he could hardly stand the anticipation. Draco’s cock, which was longer and skinnier than Harry’s own, was leaking precome onto his stomach, and he knew it wouldn’t take much for him to come.

“Fuck me Draco. Please,” Harry said, desperation dripping from his voice.

“Okay. I’ll go slow, and tell me if you need to stop,” Draco said.

“I will. I promise.”

Harry’s body buzzed with excitement and nervousness as Draco lined his cock up with Harry’s hole. Steadily, he began to push his cock in. The heat that came with it caught Harry by surprise, and a deep moan escaped his lips.

Draco went slowly, moving inch by inch until he was fully inside. Harry felt himself stretching around Draco’s cock, feeling full. Draco paused, letting Harry adjust to the sheer size of his length.

After a few moments, Harry nodded. Draco let out a heavy sigh before beginning to gently thrust. Harry threw his head back. He could feel Draco everywhere, from the tips of his fingers to his toes, which were curling at the sensation of being fucked.

Eventually, Harry lost his patience, “Harder Draco. Please. Fuck me harder.”

Draco nodded, pushing harder and faster into Harry. With each thrust came a rolling wave of ecstasy, the tip of Draco’s cock pressing against the bundle of nerves. Feeling all of Draco was earth shattering, and he bit his lower lip so hard that he drew blood.

“Oh my god, Harry,” Draco said, tilting his head back as he continued to snap his hips.

Harry watched him, his breath catching. He’d never seen anything more beautiful.

Draco’s body began to shake, and Harry knew he was growing close.

“Draco, I want you to look at me when you come.”

Draco nodded, pressing his cock harder and faster into Harry. He let out a moan with every thrust, eventually coming with a shudder. Draco continued to fuck Harry until his orgasm was over. Then, he collapsed onto Harry without bothering to pull out. His skin was sweaty, as was Harry’s.

“Fuck, Harry,” Draco whispered, “You were so good for me. You were perfect.”

Harry laughed. “I’m glad. Now, not to rush you or anything, but I desperately need you to touch me.”

Draco sat up, nodding. “With pleasure.”

Harry watched as Draco slid further down the bed, his mouth becoming even with Harry’s aching cock. Draco took the base of his length in his hand before beginning to softly lick the precome off of the head. Harry let out a heavy breath, having never felt anything like it.

Suddenly, his length was in Draco’s mouth, heat surrounding him. As Draco began to bob his head up and down, Harry felt something sharp grazing his cock.

“Fuck! What _was_ that?” Harry asked.

Draco pulled off, frowning. Harry watched as he opened his mouth, feeling around. “Shit. My fangs.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“What? They’re retractable. Give me a second,” Draco said as he began to push his fingers against his canines.

“I can’t believe you nearly impaled my dick with your fucking vampire teeth,” Harry said, shaking his head.

Draco rolled his eyes as he finished pushing his fangs into his gums, and Harry noticed that they were being quickly replaced with normal canines.

“Alright. I’m ready. You’re okay?” Draco asked.

“More than. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d really appreciate it if you got to work,” Harry said, pushing Draco’s head down.

Once again, he felt the heat of Draco’s mouth surrounding his cock. Draco began to bob his head up and down, moving his hand at the base of Harry’s length with the same rhythm. Steadily, Draco began to work faster. Harry could feel a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach, and his body was beginning to tremble.

“I’m so close Draco,” he muttered, closing his eyes as he gripped the bedsheets harder.

Within seconds, he was coming. His orgasm ripped through his body like nothing he’d ever felt before, taking him apart before putting him back together. He could feel Draco swallowing his come, only taking his mouth off of Harry’s cock once he had finished.

Draco crawled up next to Harry, pulling him close. Harry rested his head on Draco’s chest, searching for a heartbeat that wasn’t there. They were both drenched in sweat, panting heavily.

“Hands down the best sex I’ve ever had,” Harry mumbled, throwing his arm around Draco’s waist.

Draco snorted. “It better be.”

“Was it … okay for you?” Harry asked hesitantly as he tilted his head up, looking Draco in the eye.

Draco smiled softly at him, running his hands through Harry’s curls, “I feel the same. You were amazing.”

Harry let out a sigh of relief. Knowing he was much less experienced than Draco had been nerve wracking, but his anxiety immediately eased at Draco’s words.

Sleepily, he murmured, “I love you, you dick.”

Draco let out a soft laugh, “I love you too, asshole.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning that there's another explicit sex scene here!

Harry gave his reflection one last look and frowned. Although he was wearing one of his favorite sweaters, beige and made of heavy wool, and a decent pair of trousers, he still felt disappointed as he looked in the mirror.

He sighed, trying to shake the thoughts of self-doubt from his head. He knew that Draco would like him no matter what he wore, even if it was difficult to believe.

So far, New Year’s Eve had been filled with heavy waves of cold rain and the occasional clap of thunder. Harry had spent a good portion of the morning simply listening to the rain hit the window in his living room as silver light filtered in through the curtains.

He checked his wristwatch, which read 3:55. It was time to go.

After grabbing his keys and wallet, Harry headed out the door and made his way up to the 7th floor. As he neared Draco’s apartment, the familiar sensation of butterflies filled his stomach. Having spent the past three nights with Draco, he found that going back to his apartment had felt odd. It was too quiet, the walls breathing nothing of love, lust, or company.

Draco opened the door only a mere second after Harry had knocked, as though he’d been waiting in the entryway for him. Harry took in the sight of Draco, his slender figure dressed in a white collared shirt, dark green argyle sweater vest, and well-fitting slacks. His deep grey eyes were bright, and he had a wide smile on his face.

“Happy New Year’s Eve,” Draco said as he gestured for Harry to come in.

Once the door was closed, Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s neck, standing slightly on his toes in order to be eye-level with him.

“Happy New Year’s Eve,” Harry said softly before pressing their lips together.

He still found the feeling of Draco’s touch overwhelming, as though he was drunk on it. There was nothing more he craved in the world than Draco’s gentle lips and roaming hands, always hoping that his touches would linger forever.

When they broke apart, Draco was smirking, “You ready for tonight?”

Harry sighed, relinquishing his hold on Draco, “As much as I can be, I suppose.”

Draco snorted, taking Harry’s hand as he led him to the couch. The hearth was alight with a blazing fire, warmth glowing around the room. On the coffee table sat two glasses of sauvignon blanc, and Harry could smell a roast being cooked.

“You didn’t have to make me dinner, you know,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow as he folded himself into Draco’s side.

Draco let out a soft laugh, “I was not going to let you go hungry on New Year’s Eve simply because I don’t enjoy food like you. Plus, I like to cook. It’s relaxing.”

“Did you like to cook before the … accident?” Harry asked.

Draco sighed, resting his head on the back of the couch, “Not really. I didn’t get into cooking until after. I even bought a cookbook on how to cook for one. I think I resented myself for not having appreciated food before I was turned, and so I wanted to make up for it.”

Harry nodded. “That makes sense. So, when’s dinner going to be ready?”

Draco checked his watch. “About an hour or so. Why?”

“Because I think I know a way to entertain ourselves until then.”

With that, Harry untucked himself from Draco’s side and settled on the ground between Draco’s legs.

“Harry,” Draco said laughing, “Are you really going to … ?”

“Well, I’m going to damn well try,” Harry said, slowly unzipping the fly on Draco’s trousers.

Despite the fooling around that they’d gotten up to over the past few days, Harry still hadn’t gone down on Draco, and that was something he was determined to change. The one thing that consoled him was knowing that he didn’t have retractable fangs to worry about.

Draco lifted his ass off the couch enough to shimmy his pants and underwear down to his knees. Harry swallowed thickly, staring at Draco’s large, flaccid cock.

“Okay. Ready?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded.

Before Harry could lose his nerve, he lowered his mouth over the tip of Draco’s cock while his hand began to work the length. He could feel Draco begin to harden in his mouth, encouraging him to move his head faster.

“Oh _God_ , Harry,” Draco said, his fingers tangling in Harry’s hair.

Harry simply responded by slowly licking over the slit on the tip, tasting the bitterness of precome that was dripping from his now fully hard cock. Harry’s jaw ached slightly from taking Draco in his mouth, but that was certainly not at the forefront of his mind.

Feeling a surge of bravery, Harry swallowed Draco further, the tip of his dick hitting the back of Harry’s throat. Harry made a muffled sound, his gag reflex not yet accustomed to going down on someone.

“You okay?” Draco asked, pausing.

Harry took a deep breath in before letting it out and nodding.

Gentler this time, he resumed bobbing his head up and down, his hand moving in sync. Underneath him, he could feel Draco’s balls begin to tighten and his muscles begin to clench. He was close.

“Faster, sweetheart. Faster,” Draco said, yanking slightly on Harry’s hair.

Harry happily obliged, moving his mouth and hand quicker. It only took a few more bobs before Draco was coming and Harry was swallowing, grimacing at the overwhelming bitterness.

As Draco caught his breath, Harry sank back onto the couch next to him. Once Draco caught sight of Harry’s disgruntled expression, he let out a bark of laughter.

“What, didn’t taste like you’d expected it to?” he asked.

Harry shrugged, “It was … salty. And bitter. And weird.”

“You don’t _have_ to swallow, you know. You can spit it out, or I can just come on you elsewhere,” Draco said, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

Harry could feel heat rising to his cheeks, “Yeah. Sounds good.”

“Now, I’d like to try something, if that’s okay with you,” Draco said.

It was Harry’s turn to quirk an eyebrow. “Sure, but do I get to know what it is?”

Draco leaned in, slowly whispering into Harry’s ear, “I want to eat your ass. I want to lick you and prod you until you’ve come undone, and then I want to make you come.”

Without needing to think about it, Harry nodded quickly.

“I thought you wouldn’t mind that,” Draco said, pulling both of them to their feet.

Then, he undid Harry’s trousers, letting them, along with his underwear, drop around his ankles.

“Kneel on the couch with your back facing me,” Draco said.

Harry got into position, his elbows leaning against the back of the couch and his ass out, pointing towards Draco, who was kneeling on the ground. He felt oddly exposed, worrying if Draco liked what he saw.

“God, you’re beautiful, Harry,” Draco murmured as he began to massage Harry’s ass cheeks.

Harry sighed, resting his forehead against his arms.

“I’m going to start, okay?” Draco asked, and Harry nodded.

Then, he felt something warm and wet prodding at his hole. The sensation was strange but not unpleasant, and Harry began to relax into the touch. Draco’s tongue pressed against his opening, occasionally dipping through the tight ring of muscles. Harry let out a low moan as he instinctively pushed back, wanting more.

“Eager, are we?” Draco asked, going back to massaging.

Harry groaned, “Fucking tease. Get on with it, will you?”

He heard a laugh coming from behind him before he felt Draco’s tongue on him once again, worrying at his hole. The sensation was doing nothing to help his achingly hard cock, which was flushed against his stomach.

“Touch yourself,” Draco instructed before going back to lapping at Harry’s opening, pushing his tongue as far in as he could go.

Harry moved one of his hands down to his dick and slowly began to touch himself, letting his fingers roam over his balls and the base. Just as he was about to start moving his hand up and down the shaft, he felt a saliva covered finger prodding at his entrance. Pushing back against Draco’s finger, he felt himself beginning to stretch. Despite his cock begging him to be touched, he waited until Draco had stretched him with three fingers. Then, as Draco’s hand began to move faster, Harry started to work his hand up and down his length. He let out a low groan at the back of his throat, the feeling of Draco finger fucking him while he touched himself being too much. His body began to shake.

“Come for me, Harry.”

That was all it took, pearly strands shooting over Harry's hand as his orgasm rippled through him. Once the waves of ecstasy were done rolling over him, he collapsed onto the couch. Draco stood up and sat next to him.

“God, you’re so good at that. It’s unfair,” Harry said, panting lightly as he leaned into Draco’s chest.

Draco let out a light laugh, “You’re one to talk. Now, how about we get redressed and check on the roast?”

“Sounds good with me.”

☙☙☙

Two hours later, they were seated at the dining table. In front of them sat empty plates, a bowl of mashed potatoes with a considerable dent in them, and a good portion of the roast missing. Harry felt as though his stomach was about to burst.

“Well, for someone who can’t taste food, you sure make one mean roast,” Harry said, yawning.

Draco smiled warmly, lacing their fingers together, “I’ll always make you anything you want. Just tell me.”

“Will do. Right now, though, the thought of food is making me sick,” Harry said.

"Right,” Draco said, laughing, “Well, let’s move to the couch, then. We can watch movies while we wait for midnight.”

With help from Draco, Harry was able to make it to the couch, his stomach stretching uncomfortably from all of the wonderful food he’d managed to consume. Once Harry was settled into the couch, Draco wandered over to the television and turned it on, turning the dial to flip through the stations. He was eventually able to find a showing of _Holiday Inn_.

As soon as Draco sat down next to him, Harry snuggled into his side, resting his head against Draco’s chest. He pulled the plush blanket that Draco had given him right up to his chin, letting himself feel the warmth and contentment surrounding him.

☙☙☙

“Harry, love. Time to wake up.”

Harry blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dim brightness coming from the fireplace as his glasses sat awkwardly skewed on his face. He groggily sat up, realizing that he must’ve fallen asleep. Next to him, Draco was smiling softly.

“It’s almost midnight. I’ve got the ball drop on,” he said.

Harry looked and, sure enough, the famous ball drop in Time Square was being shown on the television. His aunt, uncle, and cousin had always watched the televised event every New Year’s, but Harry had never been allowed to. As a child, he’d often snuck down the hallway and poked his head around the corner just in time to see the ball drop. Then, he’d escape back to his cupboard under the stairs before he could be caught.

Through the television, Harry could hear the countdown begin.

_“Ten! Nine! Eight!”_

“I love you, Draco,” Harry said, cupping his cheek.

_“Seven! Six! Five!”_

“I love you too, Harry.”

_“Three! Two! One! Zero!”_

As soon as the ball dropped, Harry pressed his lips to Draco’s. The kiss was soft and sweet, and Harry could feel the sheer amount of love that it held. As they pulled apart, the world had transitioned into 1962.

“Happy New Year, sweetheart,” Draco said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Happy New Year.”

The next thirty minutes were spent in a tangle of limbs and kisses, all of which were, in Harry’s opinion, a perfectly suitable way of bringing in the New Year.

“You know, I didn’t even know I was going to be moving to New York a year ago,” Harry said, sighing.

“Really? When did you decide?”

“Like, October.”

Draco rolled his eyes, “Of course you did.”

Harry whacked him lightly on the arm, “Hey. I’ll have you know I’m an excellent planner.”

“I somehow doubt that,” Draco said, snorting.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight, then?” Harry asked.

Draco sighed, “Well, we’ll need to take a taxi there and back.”

Harry paused, “Right. How are we exactly going to do that with a dead body?”

“Suitcase. I’ve done it plenty of times. Don’t worry,” Draco said.

“I can’t believe you just said that with a straight face,” Harry said, shaking his head. “What else?”

“We should probably leave in a few minutes. I just need to get my kit,” Draco said.

Before Harry had a chance to ask what Draco’s kit was, he had disappeared into his bedroom. Soon enough, Draco returned carrying what appeared to be a duffel bag, and he was dragging the largest suitcase that Harry had ever seen behind him. Truthfully, it looked more like a large trunk.

“What the fuck, Draco?” Harry asked. “Are you really going to stuff this guy’s body into a suitcase?”

“Oh, so you don’t have a problem with me killing people, but you’ve got a problem with the suitcase?” Draco asked.

“It just seems very … inhumane.”

“Harry, do you _know_ what we’re about to go do?”

Harry waved a hand nonchalantly in the air, “Yes, yes. We’re going to kill a rich white asshole.”

Draco rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, “The number of ways you test my patience. I swear … ”

“So, what’s in your kit, then?” Harry asked.

Draco sighed, “Gloves, chloroform, bleach, towels. The usual.

” “You’re a fucking vampire. Why the hell would you need chloroform?”

Draco frowned, “For the tricky ones.”

“Anything else?”

“Nope,” Draco said, shaking his head, “I think that’s it. Are you sure you want to come with me?”

“For the thousandth time, yes. I’m not going to just stay home while you go … do this.”

“You mean kill someone.”

“Well, yes.”

“Right. Okay. Let’s go, then,” Draco said, shoving the duffel bag into Harry’s arms before stalking out the door.

Harry scrambled behind him as they left the apartment, Draco walking along the corridor as though he was about to do anything _but_ take a life.

Once standing on the street, waiting for a taxi to pull over, Harry turned to Draco. “So, this guy is going to turn into a wishbone, then?”

Draco nodded, “Yep.”

“Why a wishbone, of all things?” Harry asked.

Draco sighed, “From my very limited understanding, it has to do with the fact that birds are innocent and people are not. No matter what, a human’s blood will be tainted with sins and impurities. So, by my victim’s body turning into a wishbone, it compensates for all of the bad.”

“So …” Harry began, “What happens if one doesn’t get a wishbone, then? What’ll happen to them?”

“They’ll begin to rot from the inside out. Now, no more questions. Our taxi is here.”

Sure enough, a bright yellow taxi had just pulled up against the curb. Harry and Draco, who were sheltering under the overhang from the heavy early morning rain, rushed across the sidewalk and into the cab.

The ride to their victim’s mansion was, not surprisingly, filled with heavy silence. To occupy his mind, Harry found himself coming up with more and more questions that he needed answered.

After Draco paid the taxi driver, they stepped out into the rain, feasting kits and all. Harry squinted through the downpour, spotting an obnoxiously large house, not dissimilar to the shape of the White House, sitting behind a large iron gate. Soft yellow lights coming from one of the upstairs windows glowed against the dark blurriness of the night. He looked to Draco, who nodded.

“Wait, can’t I ask a few more questions ―”

“Harry, sweetheart, I love you, but could you please shut up? I promise I’ll answer any and all questions afterward. Just … be quiet … please,” Draco whispered, his voice harsh with concentration.

Harry could feel his own body changing as Draco entered the passcode to open the gate. Ripples of energy were coursing through his veins, and he could hear his quickening heartbeat in his ears. His senses were heightened, much like they had been whenever he’d been forced to sneak into the kitchen for food late at night at his aunt and uncle’s house.

Draco chose to manually swing the large gate open, minimizing the amount of squeaks coming from the semi-rusted iron. Following Draco, Harry stepped inside Dick McConnell’s property line.

The paved road leading up to the main house was fairly long and slightly uphill, rows of snowdrops and English primroses lining it. Through the occasional sliver of moonlight, Harry could see that the outline of the house in the distance was, perhaps, the largest house he’d ever seen ― and he’d seen quite a few mansions during his time in LA. This, however, easily took the cake. Its outside was surprisingly not gaudy, nor was it too plain, which surprised Harry, as he would’ve thought that any mansion trying to replicate the style of the White House would be doing so with the intent of adding on horrible columns and oddly placed diamond chandeliers. Instead, this house seemed both elegant and regal, and for that Harry had to give McConell’s architect kudos.

Harry shook his head. He wasn’t here to critique the build of McConnell’s house. He was here for something entirely else.

Besides the heavy pittering of the rain, the only sounds that could be heard as they walked up the road was that of Draco’s suitcase rolling across the cement.

As they approached the house, a crack of thunder and a spark of lightning bloomed across the bruise-colored sky. Before Harry could continue walking, he felt Draco’s sturdy hand on his shoulder.

“We need to go in through the backdoor,” Draco whispered, nodding in the direction of a graveled trail that disappeared behind the side of the house.

“How do you know how to get in?” Harry asked, pushing his useless, rain covered glasses onto the top of his head.

“I’ve been here a few times just to make sure that I’ve got everything … covered. For example, I know McConnell has a horrific habit of not locking the backdoor at night.”

“Right. That's not creepy.”

“So, here’s the plan. We’re going to go in through the back, and you must be very quiet. From there, you’re going to stay downstairs while I kill the bastard. Then, I’ll bring the body down and we can navigate stuffing it into the suitcase there. Sound okay?” Draco asked in a hushed whisper.

Harry nodded stiffly, his mind swimming, “Yep. Got it.”

“Oh, and if you see anyone,” Draco said, quickly unzipping the duffel bag in Harry’s arms and pulling out a large, heavy hammer, “Use this.”

Harry gulped.

They continued to creep around the house, eventually coming up to the expansive brick patio that lined the backyard. Carefully, Harry followed Draco as they crept up the steps. To the left of them sat an obviously expensive barbeque, and to the right sat an incredibly ornate limestone statue of a naked woman in a compromised position. Harry grimaced, instead focusing on what was directly in front of them ― two clear double doors that would lead them to Draco’s meal.

As Draco lifted his index finger to his mouth, signalling to be quiet, he carefully began to open the door. The silver handle only squeaked once as it was turned, and then the door was open.

Harry didn’t move until Draco was well inside, standing in the middle of the grand foyer as he gestured for Harry to follow him. Harry, in an attempt to steady his nerves, bit the inside of his cheek, drawing a small sliver of blood as he closed the door behind him.

He walked as quietly as possible, padding across the marble floor. Above them, a crystal chandelier hung in the center of the crisp white ceiling, and in the corner of the room sat a grand piano and a golden harp. Draco hadn’t been kidding when he’d said that this guy had money.

Draco walked to where Harry was frozen to the floor, wrapping his long arms around Harry’s waist.

“It’s okay. I know, it’s scary. You don’t have to do anything, though. Your job is to just wait here for me, okay? Can you do that, sweetheart?” Draco whispered.

Harry paused, taking a moment to fill his lungs with as much air as he could, before nodding.

“Okay. I’m going to go upstairs now. Let me know if you need anything, alright? I love you,” Draco said, pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s sweaty forehead before silently descending up the staircase.

Harry stood there, unsure of what to do. The house was shroud in darkness, and it didn’t help that his glasses were desperate for a cleaning. With a sigh, he perched on the edge of the piano bench, which groaned slightly at the adjustment of weight. Harry stopped, waiting for something to happen ― someone to catch him ― but it never came. After a few minutes, he relented, taking his round glasses off his head and beginning to clean them with the bottom hem of his sweater.

As the moments passed, he tried to listen out for any sounds coming from upstairs. Surprisingly, nothing.

It wasn’t until five minutes had gone by that Harry heard the first sounds of life ― or, rather, the first sounds of McConnell losing his life. A sharp cry, followed by what sounded to be the shattering of glass, echoed against the walls of the mansion. Harry jumped as the silence around him was pierced, and his eyes immediately darted to the second floor landing. There, he could see two shadows dancing in a battle against the hallway wall. Not knowing what to do, he stood up, tightening his knuckles around the hammer in his fist.

Before he knew it, Draco was standing at the top of the stairs, a slump figure thrown casually over his shoulder. Even through the dark, Harry could make out the bright gleam in Draco’s eyes as he walked smoothly down the stairs.

“Is he … you know,” Harry whispered, grimacing, “Dead?”

Draco nodded, “As a doorknob. Can you open the suitcase for me?”

Harry’s eyes darted to the suitcase, which was seated on the floor next to the chair. Kneeling on the marble floor, he unclasped the two locks. The inside was even roomier than it had appeared on the outside, and Harry had no doubt that McConnell would be able to fit inside.

When Harry looked up, his stomach churned. Draco placed McConnell’s body on the ground before kneeling beside him. Harry had never seen a dead body this close before, and although he wanted nothing more than to stop staring, he couldn’t manage to rip his eyes away. McConnell’s tight, oily skin had gone ashen in color, and his dark green eyes were opened and unfixed. Harry could make out the beginning of a deep colored bruise blooming across McConnell’s neck, where Draco had presumably broken it.

Harry closed his eyes, listening to his heart. His healthy, living heart.

“Harry,” Draco whispered, putting his hand on Harry’s thigh, “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

Harry opened his eyes and nodded stiffly.

“I felt the same way after I’d killed someone for the first time. It gets easier, I promise. And, as you know, you’re not obligated to come with me,” Draco said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of Harry’s head.

“No, I’m … I’m okay,” Harry said with as much determination as he could muster.

Thankfully, Draco didn’t call him out on his lie.

“Alright. Let’s get him packed up, shall we?” Draco asked.

Without waiting for an answer, he began to hoist McConnel’s body into the suitcase. Harry helped as best he could by making sure that the suitcase lid stayed open. After a few minutes of rearranging, McConnel was neatly packed away. Harry tried not to think about the awkward ways in which Draco had needed to make his arms and legs bend.

Once the suitcase was closed properly, Draco helped Harry to his feet. It was only then that Harry realized he was shaking. Quickly, Draco slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and took hold of the suitcase’s handle.

“Come on,” Draco said, gently grabbing Harry with his only free hand, “Let’s go home.”

Harry was led blindly from the house and down the path, eventually out the gate, and onto the busiest street closest to them, which sat two blocks away.

By the time they had managed to hail a cab, Harry was soaked from the rain and his head felt like a pile of mush. As he stepped into the cab while Draco loaded the suitcase into the trunk, Harry let out a long sigh. He hoped Draco was right. That it would get easier.

The drive home seemed to take ages, although Harry figured that was due to the unrest going on throughout his body. By the time the cab pulled up in front of their apartment building, Harry felt as though he was going to get sick.

Draco quickly paid the cab driver before helping Harry into the apartment complex and up the stairs, bypassing the 2nd floor for the 7th. As soon as Draco unlocked the door, Harry made a beeline for the bathroom.

He could hear vague thumping noises coming from the living room as he threw up his dinner. By the time he was done, his stomach was empty and his body was sore.

He stood up gingerly, washing out his mouth with cold tap water before walking into the living room. Surprisingly, he found Draco sitting on the couch, relaxed. Harry looked around the room, but he couldn’t find McConnel’s body. In fact, the only thing that appeared to be different was a wishbone sitting on the coffee table, having not yet been placed in a vase.

Hesitantly, Harry stepped into the living room, and Draco looked up. He seemed the same as he always did, and yet there was something different. Something had changed.

Draco held out his arms, and Harry slowly walked over to the couch, letting himself curl into Draco’s side.

“Where’s the body?” he asked in a muffled voice, his cheek pressed against Draco’s chest.

“You were in there for a while, so I was able to drink everything,” Draco said casually.

Harry paused, “Everything?”

Draco nodded, “Everything. It doesn’t take much for a vampire to drain someone.”

“So,” Harry said, gesturing to the wishbone on the table, “That’s him, then?”

“Well, I suppose that’s one way to put it,” Draco said.

Harry looked around the room, at all of the vases filled with wishbones scattered around the place. It was incomprehensible that each of those wishbones had been a person at one point, although Harry supposed there was no use in dwelling on it now. At least he finally knew what they meant, and that was all that mattered.

“I’m … I’m worried that tonight will have made you change your mind,” Draco said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Harry sat up, turning to look at Draco. As he gazed into Draco’s eyes, he saw fear.

Cupping his cheek, Harry said, “No, not at all. Sure, it was pretty weird watching you carry a dead body down the stairs knowing that you’d just killed him, and I wasn’t particularly fond of stuffing him into the suitcase, either. That being said, tonight made me realize how hard this must be for _you_. I just … I want to be here in any way I can, Draco. And if that means going with you on your feedings, then so fucking be it. I just know that I love you tremendously, and nothing could ever take that away from me. Not even the damn wishbones.”

Draco let out a soft laugh, wiping away the beginnings of tears in the corners of his eyes. “I love you so much, Harry. I hope you know that I can’t thank you enough.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Harry said, pulling Draco so that he was now in Harry’s arms, “All I’ve done is be here and love you.”

Draco snorted, “Let’s not forget the fact that you helped me kill one of New York’s most prestigious men.”

Harry pursed his lips in thought, “Well, that too. Hey, what happens when people realize he’s missing?”

Draco shrugged, “They’ll probably say that he was killed by a business enemy or chose to disappear. Who knows, maybe you’ll be the one to write an article on him.”

Harry nodded as he ran his fingers gently through Draco’s soft hair, “Huh. So, what now?”

“Now, we go to bed, and we don’t get up until very, _very_ late,” Draco mumbled through a yawn.

“Alright. Time for bed then, yes?” Harry asked.

“Definitely time for bed. Going to sleep has never sounded sexier,” Draco said, pushing himself off of Harry’s lap and standing up.

Harry followed, and together they walked to Draco’s bedroom. After deftly removing each other’s clothes, they climbed into Draco’s plush bed. Facing towards each other with their arms thrown over each others’ waists, Harry felt warmth spreading throughout his chest. He would never get over being this close to Draco, feeling skin against skin.

Draco pressed a sleepy kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth before closing his eyes.

“I love you, my little vampire,” Harry said softly.

One of Draco’s silver eyes opened. “What the _hell_ did you just call me?”

“My little vampire,” Harry said, his lips creeping into a smirk.

“God, _no_. Never again,” Draco groaned.

Harry let out a soft laugh, “Go to sleep, Draco. I love you.”

“I love you too, my little human.”


	18. Chapter 18

Just as the deep, bitter winter had fully bled into early spring, February-bloomed daffodils lining front yards and parks, Harry had fully moved in with Draco, leaving his own apartment, well, no longer his.

The decision to move in together hadn’t a big, elaborately planned thing. Instead, it happened simply because Harry had refused to leave. And over time, as Harry had continued to sleep in Draco’s apartment, his belongings had started to migrate as well, until one day, when Draco opened his closet, he’d realized that half of the shirts hanging were Harry’s. Thus began the Great Move of February 15th, resulting in only a few boxes being moved from Harry’s apartment to Draco’s, as the majority of his things were already there.

Harry’s belongings weren’t the only additions to the apartment ― several new vases filled with wishbones were scattered around the living room. Over the past few months, Harry had grown increasingly more comfortable with the idea of Draco’s condition. However, his stomach still clenched every time he watched Draco drain a body of blood.

Now, as they sat together on the couch, soft jazz playing in the background, Harry realized he’d never felt more at home.

“Well,” Draco said, looking at his watch, “It’s almost seven. Want to head out for dinner?”

Harry’s stomach sank. The only catch about going out was that he couldn’t let the world know that Draco was his ― no hand holding, no quick pecks, no innocently placing his hand on Draco’s thigh. However, Harry knew that he couldn’t hide them away in the safety of their apartment forever. If the world couldn’t adapt to them, they would simply have to adapt to the world.

“Sure. What’re you in the mood for tonight? Italian cardboard or Chinese cardboard?” Harry asked, absently picking at the hem of his sweater.

Draco snorted, “How about Italian cardboard?”

“Perfect.”

Harry stood up, dragging Draco with him. After putting on their coats, they gave each other one last kiss before walking out of their safe haven.

The night was cool but not cold, which Harry was thankful for. Above, silver stars winked across the clear, inky sky. Harry took in a deep breath, savoring the sweet smell of the air. As much as he’d loved New York’s snowy winter, he couldn’t deny that spring brought with her something new, invigorating, and refreshing.

As they walked down the street, Harry resisted the urge to reach for Draco’s hand. Instead, he settled for gently brushing their pinkies together, earning him a sad smile from Draco.

Once they got to the restaurant and were seated in a cozy booth in the back, Draco let out a long sigh.

Harry frowned, “You okay?”

“ … Is ― is it too soon to ask you again about your scar?”

Instinctively, Harry reached up to his forehead, the pads of his fingers tracing the raised, jagged lines.

“No, no, not at all. Honestly, I’d completely forgotten about it. Do you remember how I’ve told you that I had a tough childhood?”

Draco nodded.

“Well,” Harry said, fidgeting, “It all started with my parents’ death. They were in an automobile accident when I was a child, and it killed them both. I was in the car with them, and that’s where I got the scar.”

“Fuck,” Draco murmured, deep lines forming between his eyebrows, “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

“Thanks. I mean, it all went downhill from there, really. My only relatives were my mother’s sister and her husband. They took me in, and I was raised alongside my cousin, Dudley. The thing is, I was never treated equally. I cooked, cleaned, and stayed out of the way. I didn’t even have a proper bedroom. I was given a cupboard under the stairs, and that was it. It was absolute hell. So, last year, I’d decided that enough was enough, and I moved. I haven’t talked to my family since,” Harry said.

He watched as Draco gnawed on his bottom lip, something he only did was he was feeling distressed.

“It’s okay, Draco, really ―” Harry began, but he was promptly interrupted.

“Fuck, Harry. It’s not okay. I swear, if I ever meet these people ―”

Harry could see the tips of Draco’s ears going red. He brushed his leg against Draco’s under the table in an attempt to comfort him.

“Trust me, I won’t ever subject you to them,” Harry said bitterly.

Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Well, thank you for sharing, Harry. I really appreciate it.”

Harry gave him a soft smile, “Well, if I know all of your secrets, you ought to know all of mine.”

“I’m going to give you so many kisses when we get home,” Draco said, his voice dropped.

Harry blushed as he let out a bark of laughter, “I certainly won’t complain.”

“Also, before we move off of the topic of LA, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, “Please tell me you didn’t buy a plane ticket.”

“I bought two, in fact,” Draco said, grinning. “You and I are flying out on June 1st, and we’ll be staying a week. I’ve already arranged everything with Cho, and she’s cleared her schedule. I can’t believe how excited she still is about our relationship. It’s been months since you told her, and she screams at me about it every time I talk to her.”

“Well, you know Cho. And Draco, thank you so much. You’re so unbelievable,” Harry said, rolling his eyes.

“You love it.”

“Never said I didn’t.”

“Oh, and before I forget,” Harry said, smiling, “Ron and Hermione invited us over for dinner on Saturday. Said they’ve got some exciting news they want to share with us.”

“I bet you they’re pregnant,” Draco said nonchalantly.

“How in the hell did you come to that conclusion?” Harry asked.

“Last time we had dinner with them, Hermione didn’t have a drop of alcohol, and she steered clear of the soft cheeses. I swear, you’re the most oblivious person I’ve ever known,” Draco said.

“Huh. Well, say she _is_ pregnant, then. Boy or girl?” Harry asked.

Draco hummed in thought. “Boy, I think. I can imagine them having both, to be honest.”

Harry nodded, “Me too.”

“What are your opinions on kids?” Draco asked.

Harry quirked his head, “In general, or to have?”

“Both.”

Harry sat back against the booth, sighing, “I really like kids, but I’ve never thought about having them myself. Now that I think about it, though … you’d make a great dad.”

Draco gave him a soft smile. “Thanks, love. You too. I’d love to have kids.”

“Think that could happen for us down the road, then?” Harry asked.

Draco shrugged, “I don’t see why not. Only one of us could be the legal adoptive father of course, if we decided to go that route. Although, truthfully, I don’t see many other options. Surrogacy would be difficult, as I don’t imagine there are many people out there willing to give birth to a child for two gay men.”

Harry nodded, “Yes, we’d really need to make sure that our lives are spotless, especially if we wanted one of us to be chosen for adoption as a single father. God, why is this so much more complicated for us?”

“Could you imagine how different our lives would be if one of us had a vagina? It’s ridiculous,” Draco muttered, shaking his head. “No matter. We’ll make it work, no matter what. If I can survive being a vampire, surely I can figure out how to make us fathers.”

Harry snorted, “Well, there is that. Gosh, I can’t believe we’ve only been together for a few months, and we’re already talking about children.”

“I think it makes sense, though. I feel like I’ve known you my entire life. Everything about this has seemed so natural,” Draco said.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Harry said, grinning.

“Well, if we’re talking about children someday, we might as well talk about marriage.”

“Now _that’s_ an interesting topic. If one of us were to propose at some point, our ceremony would obviously need to be kept as hushed as possible,” Draco said.

“What would we even call the wedding, since it wouldn’t be legal? A commitment ceremony?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded. “I like that. Commitment ceremony.”

“I can’t imagine my life without you, you know,” Harry said softly, casting his eyes down at the table.

It was a moment before Draco responded.

“You’re my world, Harry, and you always will be.”

**Author's Note:**

> **This work is part of the ongoing HP Crack!Fic Fest 2020.**
> 
> Please feel free to leave kudos/comments for the author here, or on our communities at [LJ](https://hpcrackficfest.livejournal.com/)/[DW](https://hpcrackficfest.dreamwidth.org/)/[Tumblr](https://hpcrackficfest.tumblr.com/).


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